On the far side of a dense copse, silhouetted by the moon was a huge, dark rectangle.
Mismatched eyes blinked, and a nubbin waggled. “Rex—wait! I see something.”
The scrappy youth removed a pinecone from his hair, extracted a sizable branch from his shirt, and turned around.
“There—” The anomalous boy pointed his nubbin and the thumb that grew out of that appendage. “See it?”
“Affirmative.”
“Quickly!” exclaimed the brothers.
Snapping branches and stomping bushes, Rex plunged toward the huge, dark rectangle. His gait was aggressive, if not reckless.
Hug followed. A stick poked his curved left leg, and he kicked the obstacle aside. Two branches caught upon the right sleeve of his cow pajamas, and he tore the fabric loose. Nothing would get in the way of this long-delayed paranormal investigation.
The scrappy youth neared the edge of the underbrush, shoved aside a tall thicket, and motioned for the anomalous boy to pass through the opening. “Quickly!”
Hug exited the forest and found himself in a field.
On the far side of this clearing loomed a gigantic mansion. All of its windows were boarded up, and myriad creepers covered the major part of the façade like a scraggly beard. The tops of nine reddish-black trees poked out of the rotted roof, which was blanketed by an opalescent fungus that weirdly reflected the moonlight.
Hug did not know that this was the mansion in which Meredith Jubilee Chickenpenny had died while giving birth to her anomalous son.
Branches snapped, and bushes crackled as Rex emerged from the woods. “This’s gotta be the place.”
“It looks like a fertile environment for spirits, if such things truly exist—which I doubt.”
The anomalous boy coughed and wiped some purple glitter on his rump.
“How do we get inside?” inquired the scrappy youth. “Cherub said that the front door was locked.”
Hug closed his bad eye and scanned the back of the mansion with his good one.
Hidden within the creepers were the dark edges of a geometric shape. “Let’s investigate that—” The anomalous boy pointed his nubbin. “It appears as if a backdoor lies beneath that vegetation.”
“Your brown eye works real good.”
The brothers walked across the field and circumvented an overgrown garden. Amidst these tangled plants were nine upright stones.
Hug eyed these markers.
“Are those graves?” inquired Rex.
“Perhaps . . . but let’s not linger.”
The brothers soon reached the creeper-covered door that was at the back of the house. Five rusty padlocks dangled from the jamb.
“Darn it.”
“Goddammit and hell.”
The anomalous boy looked up and down and noticed the small, hinged flap that was at the bottom of the door.
“Can you fit through that?” asked the scrappy youth, who saw the same opening. “It’s too small for me.”
“I’m of the proper dimensions. Let me see if it’s been sealed up.”
Hug hoped that the doggie door would be unusable. The thought of entering this house was frightening, but the thought of doing so alone was terrifying, even though he did not believe in ghosts.
At present, he kneeled, extended his nubbin, and nudged the rubber flap.
The doggie door swung into the mansion and returned. Disturbed dust billowed, and the anomalous boy coughed.
Rex kneeled beside Hug. “You okay?”
The anomalous boy wiped purple glitter from his mouth and nose. “I’m fine.” Again, he coughed.
“Maybe we should just go home. It’s late, and you might get sick if w—”
“Go around to the front door. I’ll crawl through and open it from inside.”
“All right . . . but be careful in there.”
Hug flashed his shuriken, nodded, and crawled through the doggie door.
The cold darkness that surrounded him smelled like cheese, wet hay, and armpits. For a nauseous moment, he sat on the floor and coughed bad odors out of his lungs. The sickness passed, and the anomalous boy raised his head. Slowly, his mismatched eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, which was supplied by some moonbeams that had sneaked through holes in the shuttered windows.
Hug took in his surroundings.
The walls of this big, high-ceiling room were covered with hieroglyphics, dusty gems, and maps of unknown constellations. Eighteen candelabra that held the molten remains of scores of black candles stood on an oaken table, and gathered around this were nine tall chairs, each of which was surmounted by a skull that had belonged to a ram or a bull or a goat.
The anomalous boy suddenly felt very afraid. “Who lived here . . . ?”
No answer came from the staring skulls.
Hug noticed the entryway that stood on the far wall, rose to his feet, and ambled across the eerie room. From his moving vantage, he saw the curved knife that stuck out of the back of the tallest chair.
Widely circumventing the table, the anomalous boy hurried to the exit. His footfalls echoed.
A sheet of white gossamer flew at his face.
Gasping, Hug ducked under this apparition (which was made out of cobwebs) and exited the dining area. The hallway in which he now stood was at least ten degrees warmer than the space that he had just left.
Hug closed his bad eye and looked ahead.
No light shone at the end of the passageway.
Lacking options, the anomalous boy ambled into the dark, holding his hand in front of him like the prow of a ship that was entering a squall.
Wood creaked as he proceeded, blindly, and his heart thudded, gurgled, and thumped.
Something cold pressed against his palm.
Gasping, he looked up.
Standing out against the pure black background was a silhouetted, dark gray figure.
Hug froze.
Soon it became clear to him that he was looking at some kind of statue.
“Double darn you!”
The anomalous boy continued through the darkness until his hand struck a cool, flat surface that was a wall. There he turned his head ninety degrees to the left.
Moonlight limned the edges of a distant window and door. Both of these were in a room that looked like a foyer.
Quickly, Hug ambled forward. Dust filled the air as he progressed and precipitated another coughing fit.
“Hug?” Rex inquired from the far side of the door. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
It was then that the anomalous boy noticed the tall shadow that lurked in the far corner of the foyer.
His stomach knotted.
Suppressing terror, Hug turned away from the watcher, faced the door, and seized the deadbolt. Rust grated as he twisted the latch. The lock snapped, opening, and hinges creaked.
The anomalous boy flung the door and swiveled his head all the way around.
Moonlight shone upon the lurker, which was a coat rack that upheld three long, black robes. A red, nine-pointed star and eighteen weird glyphs adorned each robe.
A hand grabbed Hug, and he yelped.
“Sorry,” said Rex. “See any ghosts?”
The anomalous boy faced the scrappy youth. “Not yet, though I came upon some skulls and a curvy dagger. Did Cherub indicate where the spirits dwelled?”
“No. I bet he was too scared to come inside. Probably just saw the place and ran home.”
Hug swelled with pride over his feat of bravery.
“Where should we go?” asked Rex.
Ruminating, the anomalous boy surveyed the dark areas beyond the foyer. “I believe that we should go upstairs.”
“Why?”
“Hot air rises, and it’s been scientifically theorized that ghosts are made out of hot air molecules.”
“But I thought it got cold when they haunted someplace.”
“That’s correct—the haunted area is cold—but that’s only because the spirit has siphoned off the he
at for its biological processes.”
“Makes sense.”
“Or so I’ve read,” added Hug, who did not want to imply that he believed in ghosts, even ones that were scientific.
At present, the anomalous boy raised his nubbin and pointed to the main stairwell. “Carefully!”
The brothers proceeded across mildewed carpets, up creaking steps, and entered the second-floor hallway, which was dimly illuminated by slender moonbeams. Lying against the rotten wainscoting on their sides were several paintings of unhappy people who had serious eyes and silly, puffy clothes.
A thought came to Hug. “I wonder if Mommy could sell these at the gallery?”
“I don’t think it’s safe to take anything from a place like this. Might make the spirits angry or something.”
“You’re right,” remarked the anomalous boy, who admitted to knowing very little about non-scientific things such as curses and sports.
The scrappy youth took the lead.
Hug followed Rex around the fallen chandelier that lay in the center of the passageway. The sounds of their progress echoed weirdly.
Perspiring, the anomalous boy wiped his lumpy forehead.
Floorboards creaked underneath the carpet as he ambled, and his heart thudded, gurgled, and thumped.
Something snapped.
Hug looked toward the noise.
Rex pulled his foot out of the floor. “Watch out for this.”
Hug circumvented the hole, the bottom of which was opaque. Cautiously, the brothers proceeded.
The anomalous boy wiped sweat from his stinging eyes and looked through a dark doorway that had appeared on his left.
Beyond this portal was a library that contained piles of books and rectilinear heaps of fungus that had once been books.
Hug followed after Rex and surveyed the area.
No ghosts were apparent.
The anomalous boy sucked something into his nose slits, sneezed, and coughed. These sounds went everywhere, echoing, and became high-pitched squeaks and low-pitched growls. If he were not so frightened, he might have favorably remarked upon the strange acoustical properties of the mansion.
Hug took another step, choked on something, and convulsed.
Fifteen feet away, Rex paused and turned around. “Hug?”
The anomalous boy was seized by a coughing fit. Purple glitter went everywhere, and something scraped the insides of his throat.
“Hug!” The scrappy youth hastened back. “I think you need some fresh air. We—”
“No.”
Hug recovered, spat an amethyst onto the floor, and wiped purple glitter onto the rump of his cow pajamas. “Let’s find . . . these ghosts . . . or prove the . . . nonexistence . . . of such things . . .”
Rex frowned, made an appraisal, and snorted. “Fine. But if you have another fit like that, we’re going home no matter what. I’m the older brother, and you’re my responsibility.”
“Deal.”
“And let’s go together—side by side—so I can watch you better.”
“Agreed.”
Hug replenished his lungs and ambled forward, flanked by Rex.
Floorboards creaked as the brothers continued up the hallway.
The anomalous boy monitored the area.
A dark doorway appeared on his right.
Ambling, Hug arrived at this opening and looked inside.
The trunks and branches of three living trees filled this room. Moonlight shone whitely in the staring eyes of three watching opossums that had jet-black fur.
Chilled, the anomalous boy looked away from the vermin and continued forward. A floorboard creaked.
“We’re coming to the end,” said Rex.
Hug closed his bad eye and looked with his good one.
Thirty feet away was the end of the second-floor hallway. In the middle of this wall stood a dark, open doorway.
The brothers traversed the remainder of the hallway and stopped.
“Now what?” asked the scrappy youth.
The anomalous boy closed his bad eye and tried to see what lay beyond the open portal.
All that he could see was darkness.
“Can you see anything in there?” Hug asked Rex.
“Nope. Nothing.”
The anomalous boy smelled something terrible and fanned the air away from his nose slits.
“Wasn’t me,” defended the scrappy youth. “I swear to God.”
“I know. It wasn’t me either.”
“It’s like bad meat or something.”
From the darkness came a quiet moan.
Hug froze.
“You heard that?” whispered Rex. “That moaning?”
“I did.”
Cold air wafted from the dark doorway.
The anomalous boy started to shake.
“You feel that?” asked the scrappy youth. “The air?”
“Y-y-yes.”
Rex clenched his fists.
Shaking and fearful, Hug wiped tears from his eyes.
From the dark doorway came another quiet moan.
“I wanna go home,” said the scrappy youth.
The anomalous boy nodded. “So do I.”
From the opening came the sound of a woman sobbing.
“Quickly!” said Rex.
A rippling black shape flew out of the darkness.
Terrified, Hug screamed, spun away, and slammed into Rex.
The scrappy youth stumbled backward. His shoulder struck a rotten balustrade, which shattered, and he fell off of the second story.
Plummeting, Rex yelled.
This cry was silenced by a sharp snap and two heavy thuds.
“Rex!”
Hug scrambled to the edge of the landing and looked down.
Below lay a cloud of dust that was surrounded by darkness.
“I’m coming, Rex!”
Horrified, the anomalous boy spun around and ambled toward the stairwell.
The rippling shape that had flown out of the doorway was gone.
A curved leg plunged into the hole that Rex had made, and Hug tripped.
Floorboards slammed against his face and chest.
Pained, Hug returned to his feet and limped forward. “I’m coming!” His words echoed weirdly as he hobbled to the stairwell.
Gripping the rail, he lurched down. Boards creaked and crunched, and blood dripped into his cloudy eye from a cut on his forehead, but he did not slacken his pace.
Wood buckled.
Unbalanced, the anomalous boy fell forward. Steps smacked his chest and back and limbs as he rolled down the stairwell. The first floor pounded his face and cracked two fangs.
Spitting enamel and blood, Hug regained his footing and hobbled across moldy oriental rugs toward the area that lay directly below the broken balustrade.
“Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay, please, please, please . . .”
Ahead of him stood a large sofa that was covered with hunks of wood. Perhaps this couch—or the one nearby—had caught Rex and softened the impact of his fall.
“I’m nearly there!”
Hug hobbled. Something appeared in front of him, and he closed his bad eye and looked with his good one.
Lying on the floor between the two sofas was Rex. His neck was bent and purple.
The anomalous boy felt his entire body go cold. His heart thudded, gurgled, and thumped in his throat, and his nubbin waggled.
“Please, please, please . . .”
Hug ambled toward Rex, whose wide eyes and open mouth were unmoving. Blood drained from his left ear and pooled upon the floor.
The anomalous boy dropped to his knees and grabbed the right arm of the scrappy youth.
“Get up!”
Hug shook Rex, who remained unresponsive. “Wake up!”
The anomalous boy started to shiver. “Please . . .”
Two blue eyes gazed up at a mismatched pair.
Hug knew that Rex was not going to wake up. “I—I . . . I didn’t mean t
o.”
Frozen eyes stared.
The anomalous boy turned away from the scrappy youth, raised his nubbin, and pounded the floorboards. A sharp pain shot up the limb and into his body. This agony was not enough.
Hissing, Hug swung his nubbin again. Flesh smacked wood, blistering, and pain filled his entire body. Even so, this agony was not enough.
The anomalous boy grabbed his left limb with his right hand, squeezed, and hammered his disgusting stump against the floor again and again and again.
His nubbin thumb snapped.
A shriek that was the most horrible sound ever uttered by a human being echoed throughout the mansion in which Hug Chickenpenny had been born.
XXIII | Why?
The morning was hot and bright.
A score of formally dressed people were gathered upon a hill around a burnished coffin that bore the name Rex Roy Huntsman. Nearest this awful object and dressed in black stood a very pale blonde who was the deceased youth’s mother, Sandy, Abigail, and Hug Chickenpenny, whose face, nubbin, and thumb had been doctored and bandaged.
A dolorous minister walked to the opposite side of the coffin, bowed his head, and opened a little black book.
The anomalous boy coughed.
Rex’s mother looked at Hug. Her eyes shone with a deep and terrible hatred.
The anomalous boy stared at the ground and inserted three cough drops in his mouth so that he would not again disturb anybody.
People sniffled and wept. The minister said a lot of things that did not make sense to Hug, and eventually, the service ended.
“Amen,” said some people.
Grass squeaked beneath the hard shoes of dispersing mourners.
Abigail wiped her eyes and looked at Hug. “Let’s go down to the parking lot. Give Dad some time alone.”
“Okay.”
The mother led her son down the hill to a black limousine, where she withdrew, lighted, and smoked a cigarette. Both of her hands were shaking.
“Mommy . . . are you mad at me?”
Abigail exhaled smoke and looked at Hug. “No. Nobody is angry with you, and nobody blames you for what happened.”
“Dad did.”
“He was upset then, and he didn’t mean what he said.” The cigarette tip glowed. “And he apologized afterwards.”
The accusation was the thing that the handsome man had said with conviction—not the apology—but the anomalous boy did not want to point this out and contradict his mother.
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