The Nightmarys - By Dan Poblocki Page 0,68

get a sense of where the creature might now be. Both of his hands shrieked in pain, but he swung his arms out in front of him, in case the corpse came too close. Then something clattered to the ground outside. The slab moved toward them. A crack of light appeared, and Zilpha’s worried face peered around the edge of the door.

“What is going on in there?” she said. Then, as she looked over Abigail’s shoulder, her eyes widened. “Good Lord! Pull!” Timothy and Abigail grabbed the edge of the door. They managed to open it about a foot, wide enough for them to slip into the larger cavern. Once outside, the kids pulled on the L-brackets, trying to shut the door again. It moved, but barely.

Suddenly, the ground shook. Dirt rained down from the ceiling. “What is that?” Timothy asked. Seconds later, it stopped.

“Let’s just go,” said Abigail, grabbing her grandmother’s arm, turning back up the tunnel. Zilpha still carried the flashlight Timothy had given her. The other flashlight was gone. Harwood must have taken it. Zilpha’s light bobbled and bounced off the rocks. Timothy followed close behind the other two, watching where Zilpha stepped in case she slipped. To his surprise, with Abigail’s help, the old woman was able to slowly navigate the makeshift stairs.

The three of them diligently climbed the slope. Every few seconds, Timothy turned around to see if the creature was following, but all he could see behind them was dripping darkness. He didn’t stare too long, though. Even after everything he’d seen that day, he couldn’t bear one more glimpse at the monster’s horrible face.

As they ascended, Zilpha spoke. “After you left me, Timothy, I slowly made my way down the stairs. Once inside the lighthouse, I found this passage.”

“Are you okay?” said Timothy. “That staircase was enormous. And this tunnel …”

“Any discomfort I’m feeling now is nothing compared to what I would have felt if I’d done nothing,” said Zilpha.

“Did you see Jack?” Timothy asked. “He was down here. He locked me in that room with Abigail.”

Zilpha shook her head. “Either he’s still down there, or he was hiding up in the lighthouse crow’s nest when I came in. I never saw him come out.”

“Dammit,” said Abigail.

“What’s wrong?” asked Timothy.

Zilpha shined the flashlight on a concrete wall directly ahead. They’d made it to the top of the tunnel, but the spiral staircase was gone. “That shaking we felt,” she said. “Harwood closed the door. He was hiding from you upstairs, Gramma.”

“What do we do now?” said Timothy.

“Think,” said Zilpha. “Look around. When he built this place, Hesselius would have planned for some sort of escape.”

“There,” said Timothy, nodding at the far left side of the wall. “Shine the light.”

Zilpha found the spot Timothy had mentioned. Where the blond concrete met the black bedrock, a small knob poked out from the wall.

“What is it?” said Abigail, leaning close.

“A dial combination,” said Timothy. “Like on my school locker.”

“Is it the same code from—?”

“No,” Timothy interrupted Abigail. “Look. There are letters this time.”

“But what’s the code?” said Abigail. “Ugh, I’m so sick of this!”

A noise echoed up from the tunnel: the sound of something scraping against the rock.

Timothy didn’t even have to think. “Righteousness, integrity, and sacrifice,” he answered.

“If the dial works like our lockers,” said Abigail, “maybe we need three letters. R. I. S.?”

“Try it,” said Zilpha.

Abigail leaned forward and spun the dial. A few seconds later, the tunnel began to rumble, and a space appeared at the top of the wall. Soon the spiral staircase had lowered into the ground, revealing the opening to the lighthouse.

“Open, sesame,” said Zilpha.

Abigail went first, helping her grandmother take each large step, followed by Timothy. The halogen lamp by the desk lit the lighthouse office with a dim glow. The engine whirred above their heads, and a few seconds later, the rotating light flashed from the hatch in the ceiling.

“Let’s go,” said Abigail.

“But we don’t know where Harwood went,” said Timothy.

“I don’t care,” said Abigail. “I’m not waiting around this place one more second to find out.”

“We should at least call the police,” said Zilpha, picking up the receiver on the desk. She held the cradle to her ear, then shook her head. “Dead.”

“Come on,” Abigail begged. Timothy opened the door. They were greeted by a strong, salty breeze. One by one, they crept out into the night. Timothy shut the door behind them. Standing on the gravel path, they glanced all around. The river lapped the rocks