Watch Hollow

by Gregory Funaro

  Lucy restrained herself from screaming and sat there with her heart hammering as Nessie hopped up the stairs and peeked out the crack. At the same time, the slam of the front door shook the walls, and a muffled voice shouted:

  “That’s enough, Tempus!”

  “It’s the old clocksmith,” Nessie whispered, and Lucy heard him cough.

  “It’s Mr. Quigley!” she whispered in terror, and as if in reply, a low creak echoed through the house. “What’s happening to my father, to Oliver?”

  The rabbit pressed one of her long ears to the peephole, blocking out the light entirely. “They’re all right. But one wrong move, Mr. Quigley says, and he’ll shoot.”

  Lucy gasped. “Mr. Quigley has a gun!” she cried, and Meridian shushed her.

  “Now Mr. Quigley’s asking where you are, Miss Lucy,” Nessie said. “Tempus Crow saw us. Oh no, he knows about the hiding spot—they’re coming into the library!”

  “Quiet, everyone, not a sound!” Meridian hissed. Reginald squealed, Torsten whimpered, and then came the sound of footsteps shuffling into the library.

  “Down on the floor, the both of you!” ordered Mr. Quigley. “Where’s Lucy?”

  “Er—she must have jumped out the window,” Mr. Tinker said shakily, and then a loud thump on the other side of the bookcase startled everyone. Lucy slapped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.

  “In-SIDE—caw!” Tempus Crow cried throatily, and Mr. Quigley pounded on the bookcase.

  “Open up, you loathsome creatures!” the old man shouted.

  Nessie hopped down from the crack—“Out of the way, out of the way!” she whispered—and Mr. Quigley was heard knocking some books off the shelves. Lucy and the animals backed up and around the curve of the stone stairs, and then—bang!—a bullet ripped a hole through the bookcase, casting a dot of red light on the stone wall. Lucy and the animals huddled together, their hearts hammering against one another in panic.

  “Mr. Quigley, no!” cried Lucy’s father from the library. “Let the children go—”

  “Another move and you die!” the old man snapped, then he began coughing into his handkerchief. “Curséd soot! What, no more tricks, house? No more candlesticks?”

  The walls creaked and groaned.

  “I thought as much! You’re too weak now, aren’t you, house? Very soon, the magic in your sunstone will be depleted, and your light will be gone forever!” Mr. Quigley laughed. “Now, where’s the secret switch to open the bookcase, Tinker?”

  “We don’t know, I swear! We don’t even know what’s going on!”

  “Maybe this will make you talk!”

  “No, please, not my son!”

  “Alive GOOD—caw! Fear help Ed-GAR!”

  Lucy gasped—did she hear the bird correctly?

  Mr. Quigley sighed. “Perhaps you’re right, Tempus,” he said calmly, and pounded on the bookcase again. “Go ahead and hide, then! The house is almost ready. Your fear will only help Edgar!”

  “Ed-GAR—caw!”

  Lucy’s skin broke out into gooseflesh. She understood. Tempus Crow had not said “The Garr!” when he deserted the clock that night three months ago. He’d cried out the name of the Blackfords’ long lost son—which meant little Eddie was the Garr!

  “Of course,” Meridian whispered. “The only one of us Eddie ever liked was Tempus Crow. He would sit there on the landing for hours just to watch him cuckoo. Tempus must have sensed his presence that night in the Shadow Woods and flew off to find him! Little Eddie is the Garr!”

  “Impossible—oink! Edgar Blackford died over a hundred years ago—oink-oink!”

  “The Shadow Woods,” Fennish said quietly. “They transformed him into even more of a monster than he was before.”

  “But how?” Torsten said. “And why? After all these years, why would Edgar suddenly come back for his house three months ago?”

  “That’s when Mr. Quigley said he bought the house,” Lucy said, the light dawning. “You don’t think—”

  “Mr. Quigley, please,” said Mr. Tinker. “Surely you can let us go. We only came to fix the clock!”

  “Yes, and a pretty penny it cost me, too,” said Mr. Quigley. “But then again, turning lead into gold is nothing for me.”

  “He’s an alchemist,” Meridian whispered. “You heard him. He can turn lead into gold. Which means he must have come to Watch Hollow for the same reasons the Blackfords did over a century ago. He knows about the magic here!”

  “Unfortunately,” the old man went on, “I got more than I bargained for when I acquired this house. Who would’ve thought my activities in the Shadow Woods would’ve brought a monster back from the dead? But no matter, just like you, Charles Tinker, my debts will soon be paid. Edgar will have his house back, and I shall have what’s mine.”

  “The fool,” Meridian said. “He resurrected Edgar Blackford by accident when he tried to use the magic in the Shadow Woods for alchemy!”

  “I’ve heard enough,” said Fennish, heading up the stairs. “We need to get up into the clock. I know the way. Follow me.”

  “But what about Edgar?” asked Frederick. “He’ll be here any moment now!”

  “That’s right,” said Fennish, his one eye twinkling in the light from the bullet hole. “And we shall be waiting to welcome him home.”

  Fifteen

  A Sort of Homecoming

  As Mr. Quigley settled into one of the library’s big leather armchairs, the crow perched itself above his shoulder on the seatback. There was something strange yet familiar about the bird’s eyes, but Oliver couldn’t tell for sure being so far away. He was sitting on the floor in front of the chemistry table, huddling close to his father—their minds barely able to comprehend what was happening, let alone what to do about it.

  “So, you see, gentlemen,” Mr. Quigley said, leveling the gun at them, “at first, I was able to hide my real motives from the house because it was so preoccupied with the disappearance of Tempus Crow and the clock animals.”

  “But— You speak of the house as if it’s—alive.”

  “Oh, but it is, Mr. Tinker. Not in the natural sense, say, as you and I are alive. But you see, the very nature of life here in Watch Hollow is . . . well, super-natural.”

  Mr. Quigley chuckled, then coughed into his handkerchief. Oliver’s head was spinning, but he had a good idea what the rat named Fennish had in mind. However, to accomplish it, Lucy and the animals would need to get into the clock. And how they were going to do that with Mr. Quigley sitting right there in front of the secret door in the bookcase, Oliver had no idea.

  “Anyhow,” the old man continued, “thanks to a combination of the missing animals, the fear from those that remained, and, of course, the broken clock, the house grew weaker, and I was able to reroute the pipes without it noticing. However, before I could get the magic flowing from the shadow wood, the rat surprised me and blew my cover.” Mr. Quigley coughed and adjusted his bandage. “The house evicted me in its way soon after. I couldn’t go back in without risking everything.”

  “So that’s why you hired me,” Mr. Tinker said glumly.

  “And your children,” said Mr. Quigley. “It was a foolproof plan, you see. All of you were good, innocent people, and I knew the house would welcome your energy. However—and this is the key, Mr. Tinker—even if your winding mechanism failed, I knew, in time, your children’s fear would succeed in getting the clock ticking again. After all, there is no fear more powerful than that of a child. Think back to those nightmares of long ago, Mr. Tinker. Or to those long, dark nights spent huddled under your blankets, cowering from the monster under your bed. Have you ever known such fear?”

  “Yes, I have,” Mr. Tinker said sadly. “The fear of losing my children.”

  Mr. Quigley scoffed. “You’re too sentimental for your own good, Charles,” he said, and then the old man’s eyes flickered with understanding. “Then again, perhaps that is the problem. Perhaps that is why Edgar has yet to return. There must sti
ll be too much hope, too much love in the house—which means we need more fear!”

  Mr. Quigley pointed the gun at Oliver.

  “No!” cried his father. Oliver cowered against the leg of the chemistry table, and then—bang!—one of the beakers exploded above their heads. Mr. Quigley howled with laughter—he had missed Oliver on purpose. At the same time, more Shadow Wood branches slithered in through the broken window and fanned out like fingers over one of the bookcases. The burst of fear from Oliver and his father had brought the trees closer!

  “There, you see?” said Mr. Quigley. “Perpetual motion. Fear begets fear, just as love begets love. However, fear is much stronger than love. Think of the power, then, in that precise moment when a son realizes he is about to lose his father.”

  The old man turned the gun on Mr. Tinker. Oliver screamed, the Shadow Woods crept farther into the room, and then a booming voice bellowed from outside:

  “BRING ME THE TINKERS!”

  Oliver nearly fainted with fright. It was the Garr!

  “Ed-GAR!” cried Tempus Crow, flying out of the room, and Mr. Quigley smiled.

  “You heard him,” the old man said, rising. “Hands up and outside. However, I warn you: one false move, Charles, and your son gets it.”

  Mr. Quigley led Oliver and his father at gunpoint out onto the porch, where a red-eyed, ten-foot-tall tree man stood waiting for them in the moonlight at the bottom of the steps. Oliver’s knees buckled, and his father pulled him closer, the two of them shaking as the monster leaned in to get a closer look at them.

  “WHERE IS THE GIRL?” the Garr growled, his breath rotten and steaming from his glowing red mouth.

  “She’s inside somewhere, hiding with the animals,” said Mr. Quigley. “You needn’t worry about them now. The clock is ticking and the house is ready. Therefore, allow me to be the first one to welcome you home, Master Blackford!”

  Mr. Quigley chuckled, and so did the Garr—low and croaking, like a frog—and then his glowing red eyes and mouth melted together, his tree body shrank to the shape and size of a human, and there in the moonlight stood the same boy Oliver had seen standing at the edge of the Shadow Woods. Teddy, aka Edgar Blackford!

  “I owe you Tinkers much gratitude,” he said, mounting the steps to the porch. “The fear you have helped create here tonight has enabled me to come home.”

  Mr. Quigley pulled the Tinkers aside, and as Edgar walked past them into the house, Oliver caught a whiff of the same garbagy odor he had smelled so many times near the tunnel in the Shadow Woods.

  Mr. Quigley led Oliver and his father back inside at gunpoint. Edgar was standing at the foot of the stairs now, gazing up at the clock with the crow perched on the banister beside him.

  “All right, you have your house back,” said Mr. Quigley. “I kept my end of the bargain. Now kindly return my book of formulas and I’ll be on my way.”

  So that was how Edgar Blackford got Mr. Quigley to do his dirty work, Oliver realized amid his terror. He had taken the old man’s book of formulas!

  Edgar giggled and turned around to face him. “You old fool. Did you really think I would allow you to leave here with the knowledge of the Shadow Woods?”

  “But we made a deal!” cried Mr. Quigley. “This house is rightfully mine! I agreed to give it to you in exchange for my book of formulas, which you stole from me when I was practicing my art in the Shadow Woods!”

  Edgar swiveled his gaze to Oliver. “This is what happens when a bumbling alchemist comes to Watch Hollow seeking immortality. My parents settled here for the same reasons. However, unlike Mr. Quigley, they were talented. They failed to make themselves immortal, of course, but they did succeed in other magical pursuits—such as carving wooden animals that come alive and, of course, building this house and its clock.”

  “Where is my book?” Mr. Quigley persisted, but Edgar just ignored him and looked up again at the clock.

  “I suppose Mr. Quigley learned of Watch Hollow the way most alchemists learn of such places—through research, astronomical calculations, and whatnot. Luckily for him, the house had come into the possession of a distant relation of mine in England who was unaware of its . . . uniqueness. Mr. Quigley acquired it for a song, I’m sure.”

  “My book!” the old man cried. Oliver could feel him trembling with rage behind him. If only he could use this wrinkle in things to his advantage and distract everyone so Lucy and the animals could get up into the clock. Think, Oliver, think!

  “Alas,” Edgar said, turning back with a sigh. “Poor Mortimer Quigley. In his quest for immortality, he made me come alive instead—and much more powerful than I could have ever dreamed as a boy. I am one now with the Shadow Woods, my magic as ancient and mysterious as the trees themselves. And finally, after all these years, I’m able to come home.”

  Edgar giggled, and Mr. Quigley stepped out from behind the Tinkers.

  “Enough!” the old man said, pointing his gun now at Edgar. “This is your last chance. Give me my book of formulas or I will send you back into the darkness where you belong.”

  “Your book is destroyed,” Edgar said, smiling mischievously. “After all, you won’t be needing it where you’re going.”

  Mr. Quigley wailed in frustration and fired—bang, bang!—hitting Edgar square in the chest. Oliver and his father jumped back, while Edgar just glanced down casually at the bullet holes in his shirt and giggled.

  “Ouch,” he said, and then in a burst of red sparkles, the holes closed as if they were never there. Mr. Quigley’s eyes bulged in horror; but before he could fire again, Edgar waved his hand, and a giant shadow wood branch exploded out of the library. It barreled through the parlor like a freight train, knocking furniture everywhere and snatching Mr. Quigley off his feet. Oliver’s father pulled him close, the two of them trembling as the branch shook Mr. Quigley so hard he dropped his gun—along with dozens of gold coins from his pockets.

  “Help, help!” the old man shrieked, and then the branch dragged him backward, kicking and screaming, through the parlor and out the library window into the Shadow Woods. Mr. Quigley’s screams choked off a second later.

  “My parents never trusted me with their book of formulas either,” Edgar said, smiling. “But who needs alchemy when one wields the power of the Shadow Woods? Take Tempus Crow.” Edgar stroked the giant bird’s head. “All he needed was a pair of new acorns in his eyes after Lucy nearly killed him—the same acorns that gave you your nightmares, Oliver Tinker.”

  Despite his fear, Oliver understood. He’d noticed the crow’s eyes in the library—that was it; they were made of acorns! Tempus Crow had been the clock’s cuckoo bird, which meant his eyes had once been made of sunstones. That’s how Edgar Blackford was controlling him. He’d replaced the bird’s eyes with acorns!

  “And yet,” Edgar went on, “looking back, I suppose I’ve always known that I was destined to wield the power of the Shadow Woods—which is why, all those years ago, I tried replacing Fennish’s eyes with acorns, too. Unfortunately, however, my parents intervened and—” Edgar looked around. “Well, speaking of Fennish, where is our lucky number seven? I am so looking forward to killing him.”

  At that moment, something clanged in the mechanical room. Edgar turned toward the clock, and Tempus Crow flew up to the cuckoo door and tried to pry it open with his beak. Lucy and the animals had made it up there after all, Oliver realized—and at the same time, his father leaned over and whispered in his ear.

  “I know what they’re doing,” he said. “You need to get up there and help!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In-SIDE—caw!” cried Tempus Crow, struggling with the cuckoo door; and as Edgar stepped onto the stairs, Mr. Tinker rushed across the foyer and tackled him from behind. Edgar cried out in surprise, and then the two of them tumbled together onto the floor.

  “NOW, OLIVER, GO!” cried his father.

  Oliver shook off his stupor, his fear, his worry, and with single-minded purpose bounded up t
he stairs and into the mechanical room, where he found the others stretched out in a human-animal chain between the clock face and the conductor sphere. Fennish held onto the sphere with his front paws, Meridian held onto his back legs, Torsten hung on to her tail, then came the pig, the rabbit, the turtle, the duck, the squirrel, the beaver, the skunk, the fawn, and the raccoon, whose tail was wrapped around Lucy’s ankle. Lucy was balancing on one foot, reaching like a ballet dancer with her fingers only inches from the clock face.

  But still, their human-animal chain was too short!

  “Oliver, help!” Lucy cried, her face contorted with strain—but before Oliver could make a move, Tempus Crow flew into the mechanical room and dove straight for him. Oliver ducked and swatted blindly at the bird, and then Fennish leaped from the conductor sphere and knocked Tempus Crow to the floor. Jaws snapped and claws slashed, Tempus Crow shrieked, and then the rat and the bird wrestled out of sight behind some gears at the rear of the clock.

  “Oliver, now!” Lucy cried. The animals had shifted, and Lucy’s hand was on the clock face. Oliver stepped into Fennish’s place, and Meridian immediately wrapped her paws around his ankle. At the same time, Edgar Blackford appeared in the doorway.

  “NO!” he roared, his eyes blazing with fury, and Oliver teetered over on one leg and slapped his hands down on the conductor sphere.

  All at once, a low humming began, and every cell in Oliver’s body buzzed. The light in the mechanical room turned from red to blinding white, and then Edgar Blackford screamed and doubled over, clutching his stomach. He staggered backward out onto the landing, the railing split with a deafening crack, and then came the muffled thud of Edgar’s body on the foyer floor below.