The Curse of the Blue Figurine

by John Bellairs

  "Jeezus!" he exclaimed in a loud foghorn voice. "Where'd you two come from? Gawd, I thought you two was at the bottom o' Hag Lake or someplace! What happened to ya? Huh?"

  On the spur of the moment the professor made up a cock-and-bull story: He explained to the owner that Johnny was nervous and excitable. He had been under a doctor's care recently because of the loss of his mother. Last night, for no reason at all, Johnny had plunged out into the night, and the professor had followed after, and then the two of them had got trapped by the earthquake and had to be rescued.

  The owner accepted the story—at least he said that he did—but he glowered suspiciously at the professor. The professor didn't know it, but he had been under suspicion from the time he signed the register in the motel's office. He had signed it "Roderick Childermass, Ph.D.," and as far as the owner was concerned, all Ph.D.'s were kooks and Communists and God knows what else. As for the policemen, they were just glad that they could call off the search and go home.

  After the policemen had gone and everyone had calmed down a bit, Johnny and the professor packed their bags and got ready to leave. The professor went to the motel office and paid the bill, and off they went. They drove straight back to Duston Heights, stopping only in the town of Rochester to grab lunch at a drive-in. When the professor's car pulled up in front of the Dixon house, Gramma and Grampa knew right away that something had happened. The travelers had come back from their trip two days early, and they had come back suddenly, without calling, without explanations. At first Johnny and the professor were very secretive and close-mouthed about what had happened. Finally, though, the professor admitted that something very strange and mysterious and scary had happened. And he said that he'd tell the Dixons the whole story in three days time. In the meantime he needed to make a few phone calls and confer with a friend of his. Then—after grabbing a Bible out of a bookcase and making Johnny swear to secrecy on it—the professor left.

  Three days passed. During this time Johnny stayed at home. He did jigsaw puzzles and played cribbage and checkers with Grampa. Meanwhile across the street the professor was busy. First he called up Dr. Melkonian and chewed him out. Without giving the doctor a chance to get a word in edgewise, he told him that he was a pompous, posturing bearded hornswoggler, who ought to have his psychiatric license revoked. He accused him of mystagogic muckification and pointless prattle, and he said that he'd ask for his money back if he thought that there was any chance it'd be returned. He ended up by slamming the receiver down hard in the doctor's ear. This little rant did not make a whole lot of sense, but it left the professor feeling relieved and curiously satisfied. Next the professor hired a cleaning lady to whip his house into shape so he could have visitors in. Finally he made a long-distance call to an old friend of his up in Durham, New Hampshire, the town where the University of New Hampshire is.

  On a Friday night at around eight o'clock Gramma, Grampa, and Johnny went across the street to the professor's house. When he met them at the door, he was wearing a red damask smoking jacket that smelled of mothballs, and he was smoking Balkan Sobranie tobacco in a pipe—he had decided that cigarettes were bad for his health. The professor ushered his guests into the living room. A bright fire burned in the fireplace, and the crystal pendants on the ormolu candlesticks on the mantel glistened and glittered. In an easy chair by the fire someone was sitting—a stranger. He was a tall, weedy man with a fluff of white hair on his head. He wore big, goggly, horn-rimmed glasses, and his long pointed nose was bent and ridged. The shoulders of his tweed jacket were covered with dandruff, and the elbows had leather patches. His pants were baggy and shapeless, and his long pointed shoes looked as if they were made out of cardboard.

  "This is Professor Charles Coote," said Professor Childermass, pointing toward the man. "He is an old friend of mine, and he has written a very important book on Egyptian magic. He also knows a great deal about ushabti—of which we shall have more to say later."

  Professor Coote stood up and made three quick nods of his head: one toward Johnny, one toward Gramma, and one toward Grampa. Then he sat down and folded his hands in his lap. Professor Childermass led Gramma and Grampa over to the sofa and asked them to sit down.

  Johnny sat down on a straight chair and squirmed impatiently. He did not know what the professor was going to say or do, and he was impatient and extremely curious.

  The professor took his pipe out of his mouth and harrumphed. He looked around as if he didn't know where he was, and then, with a sudden abrupt dash, he went to the sideboard and came back with a rattling tray full of bottles and glasses. He set the tray down on the coffee table with a jolt, and then he backed away into the middle of the room. Entertaining people was a chore for the professor. He didn't do it often, and whenever he did it, he acted as if he was trying to get things over with as quickly as possible.

  "Well, uh... just help yourselves," he said, waving his hand awkwardly. "There's... well, there's sherry for those who drink it, and imitation nonalcoholic sherry-flavored punch for those who, uh, like that sort of, uh, thing. Just... uh, help yourselves." When this little speech was over, the professor retreated to the fireplace and stood there, fidgeting. Professor Coote got up and loped across the room to the coffee table. He poured himself a glass of sherry and went back to his chair. Then everyone else started to help themselves. Johnny wanted a glass of sherry, but he could tell from the look in Gramma's eye that he'd better have some of the other stuff instead.

  When everybody had something to drink, the professor poured himself a glass of sherry. He downed it all in one gulp, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and slammed the glass down on the mantelpiece. After some harrumphing and nose blowing he turned again to face his company and began to speak. He had called them here, he said, to clear up some of the mysteries of the last few months. First he wanted Johnny to speak.

  "Who, me, Professor?" Johnny asked, tapping his chest with his finger.

  The professor nodded. "Yes, you, my friend. I want you to begin at the beginning and tell these folks everything you can remember about the whole crazy business that you have been mixed up in."

  Johnny thought about the figurine that he had stolen from the church. He glanced nervously at Gramma and Grampa. "Do I have to tell... everything?" he asked.

  "Yes," said the professor firmly. "Everything! Don't leave out a jot or a tittle or a smidgin. And don't worry. No one's going to disown you or clap you in irons. Please begin."

  So Johnny told his tale. He told about how he had stolen the figurine from the church. He told about Mr. Beard and the ring and the weird and ghostly things that had happened to him after he put the ring on his finger and began saying the prayer to Thoth and Toueris. Finally he told about what had happened to him and the professor up on Hellbent Mountain at midnight, amid lightning and thunder and rain. Of course, since Johnny had been unconscious or sleepwalking during part of this last episode, the professor had to fill in details. He did this in a very dramatic way, with lots of gestures. Finally, when Johnny and the professor had both said their piece, silence fell. There was no sound in the room but the crackling of the fire. Then Gramma stirred restlessly in her seat. She gave Grampa a hard nudge in the ribs with her elbow and said to him in an accusing tone, "How about that, eh, Mr. Smarty-pants? Mr. Know-it-all? You're the one that said the ghost was just a lot o' foofaraw, an' I was just an old superstitious Irish lady. What d'ye say now? Eh?"

  Grampa groaned. "I think I'm gonna be hearin' about this for the next six months," he said, and he gave Johnny a humorous look, as if to say "What're you gonna do?"

  Gramma turned to the professor next. She gave him her best glower, as if she felt everything that had happened was his fault. "Them spiders," she began, wrinkling up her nose in disgust, "was... was they somethin' that came with the blue doojigger in the black box?"

  The professor turned to Professor Coote and grinned. "You're on, Charley," he said. "Help the lady."

  Professor Coote spoke up.
He sounded very scholarly and precise. "In a manner of speaking, yes. They were a manifestation of the forces—the evil forces— that dwelt inside the blue figurine. Insects have often been associated with evil spirits. Beelzebub was one of the Seven Devils, and his name means 'Lord of the Flies.' "

  "What was that blue thing, anyway?" Grampa asked. "Did old Baart make it, or was it a souvenir?"

  Once again Professor Coote responded. "No, in spite of that label he put on to confuse people, it was a genuine ushabti. A tomb figurine. But it was not Egyptian. It came from Kush, which is an ancient kingdom far up the Nile, beyond Egypt. The kings of Kush conquered Egypt in the eighth century B.C., and they ruled there for a while. When they were driven out, they carried Egyptian customs back to Kush with them. Then, when they were back in their own little kingdom, the Kushites pretended that they were Egyptians. They followed Egyptian religious practices, wrote Egyptian hieroglyphics, and they made ushabti. Of course, the workmanship of these ushabti was rather crude." He turned to the professor and smiled patronizingly. "No doubt, Roderick," he added, "that is why you failed to see that the ushabti was genuine. A genuine ancient object, I mean."

  The professor scowled. "Oh, don't be silly, Charley," he snapped. "I wouldn't have known a genuine Egyptian ushabti if it bit me on the rear. But like most scholars, I like to pretend that I know more than I really know. So I screwed up. Shut your trap and have more sherry."

  There was an awkward silence. Professor Coote blew his nose, and then he made a dash for the coffee table. He refilled his glass and hurried back to his seat.

  Grampa still had some questions to ask. "Look, Rod," he said, pointing a long freckled finger at the professor, "if that blue doohickey was really ancient, where'd old Baart get his hands on it? D'ye think that guy, that wood-carver, gave it to him?"

  The professor stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "I think that the wood-carver must have given the figurine to Father Baart. By the way, would you care to see it—or rather, what's left of it?"

  Gramma, Grampa, and Johnny all said "Yeah!" or "Sure!" or "You're darn tootin'!" together.

  The professor walked over to the armchair where Professor Coote was sitting. Down on the floor, hidden by the shadow of the armchair, lay a large black book. Stooping, the professor picked the book up and carried it out into the center of the room. Johnny, Gramma, and Grampa all leaned forward eagerly to look as the professor flipped the heavy cover back. Inside the book lay the shattered, charred fragments of the blue figurine.

  "My gosh!" Johnny exclaimed. "Did you do that to it, Professor?"

  The professor shook his head. "Nope. I found the figurine like this when I got back home from our trip. I think it must have happened when you scattered the ashes of our dear old friend Father Baart. The ring got the same treatment. I took it out of my pocket when I paid our bill at the motel, and it looked like this."

  He reached into the pocket of his smoking jacket and took out a twisted wad of blackened metal. "The stone was gone," he added as he showed the remains of the ring around. "It vaporized, or exploded, or something. I found little bits of fingernail parings and hair—I think that's what they were. They were clinging to the metal part of the ring, and I imagine they were under the stone. I burned them in my fireplace, which is the proper thing to do with such rubbish, I believe."

  "Yes," said Professor Coote, nodding. "I believe you did the right thing." He smiled prissily and added, "You also ought to bury the remains of the ushabti and the ring. Bury the pieces under the roots of a yew tree in a cemetery by the light of a new moon. That is the method of disposing of cursed objects that is recommended by the great astrologer Regiomontanus. He says that—"

  "You mean Johannes Mueller of Koenigsberg, don't you?" said the professor, interrupting. "That's his real name, you know."

  Professor Coote gave his friend a dirty look. "Yes, I know what his real name is. But it would be stuffy and pedantic to call him Johannes Mueller, wouldn't it? And we wouldn't want to be stuffy and pedantic, would we?" Professor Coote had been looking for some way of getting even for the "shut your trap" remark. Now he sat back in his chair, satisfied.

  Johnny spoke up again at this point. There was still a lot about this business that seemed puzzling to him. "How come old Father Baart wanted to kill me?" he asked. "Was it just because he was evil, or what?"

  The professor studied the burning tobacco in the bowl of his pipe. "I think," he said slowly, "that it was going to be a case of a life for a life. Baart was dead, you see. He was an evil sorcerer, and he made some mistake in the middle of his sorcerizing. What he did wrong we'll never ever know, but it got him killed. His body was burnt to ashes, and it was buried up in the mountains by... by whom? The wood-carver? The Powers of Darkness? I don't suppose we'll ever know. But to continue: Baart was dead, but his spirit still hung around on the earth. He haunted St. Michael's Church, and he would have gone on haunting it—harmlessly—forever, I suppose. But you took the lid off the cauldron, Johnny. You disregarded the warning and took the figurine out of the church. A church is a sacred place. It can keep the powers of evil in check. But once you removed the figurine from the protection of the church, then—quite literally—all hell broke loose. And what did our old pal Baart want? He wanted to be alive again in the world. So he appeared to you as Mr. Beard, and he gave you a ring. And the ring gave you power, power against bullies like Eddie, but that was not its real purpose. No. The ring gave Baart power over you. It was part of his plan. With the ring on your finger you were going to die at midnight in Duston Park, and he was going to come back to the world of the living. In what form, I wonder? As young Johnny Dixon? As Father Baart? As Mr. Beard? God only knows."

  Johnny shuddered. "He said I would die if I took the ring off my finger. That's why I kept it on."

  The professor grimaced. "That was just a lot of threatening folderol, my boy. You could have taken the ring off whenever you wanted to. Actually the situation was just the opposite of what that old devil said it was. You would die if you did keep the ring on your finger. So it was really very fortunate that... that..."

  The professor's voice trailed away. He suddenly became very gloomy and bit his lip.

  "What's the matter, Professor?" Johnny asked anxiously.

  The professor heaved a deep despairing sigh. He walked to the fireplace and knocked his pipe out against one of the andirons. "Oh, nothing," he said sadly. "Nothing much. It just suddenly occurred to me that Dr. Melkonian probably saved your life. He took the ring off, as you know, when you were asleep in his office. If you had still had the ring on when we went to Duston Park at midnight, the old buzzard would've made short work of you—and of me too, perhaps. And was I nice to Dr. Melkonian? Was I grateful? No. I chewed him out over the phone because he was wrong about what was wrong with you. Sometimes I think I'm really not a very nice person." Tears came to the professor's eyes. It looked as if he was going to break down and bawl right there in front of everybody.

  Johnny jumped to his feet. There were tears in his eyes too. "No, Professor!" he exclaimed loudly. "You're not a bad guy! Really, you're not! If you hadn't've come up to rescue me, I'd be dead! You stood right up to the ghost, and you're a real brave guy! Honest, I mean it! Don't cry! Please don't!"

  The professor blinked and sniffled. He took out a red cotton handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. "You think I'm okay after all?" he asked, looking around uncertainly.

  "Of course you're okay!" put in Professor Coote. He reached up from where he was sitting and patted the professor reassuringly on the arm. "You have one of the filthiest tempers I've ever seen in my life, but when you're not screaming and raging or throwing the furniture around, you're an extremely kind and thoughtful person. Of course," he added, poking a forefinger at the professor, "it would help your reputation if you'd sit down tomorrow and write a nice note to Dr. Melkonian explaining how you really feel now and apologizing to him for your boorish behavior. I mean, it would be the decent thing to do."<
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  The professor took off his glasses and dabbed at his eyes with his soggy handkerchief. Then he put his glasses back on and looked around the room. Everyone was smiling at him. Grampa was grinning and puffing contentedly at his pipe. Even Gramma, whose normal expression was a frown, was smiling now.

  The professor harrumphed and rubbed his elbows. He stuck his pipe back in his mouth and tried to act stuffy. "Hmh!" he snorted. "Well now, is... is there anything more I can get for anybody? Eh?"

  "There certainly is," said Professor Coote in a dry, sarcastic voice. "I believe it is the custom to serve cookies and other edible goodies with sherry. And indeed, when I was in your kitchen earlier this evening, I saw a plate loaded with such items. It was sitting on the counter by the sink. And that's where it still is."

  The professor's face turned red. He slapped his forehead with the flat of his hand. "Phooey!" he roared. "I knew I had forgotten something! Just a minute." He turned on his heel and dashed out of the room. A moment later he returned. In his hands was a china platter, and it was loaded with all sorts of tasty things. Peanut-butter cookies and chocolate brownies with chocolate frosting and chocolate candies (creams—the professor hated caramel fillings) and piles of bonbons on paper doilies. Then the professor went back and came in a second time. This time he was carrying a plate with a Sacher torte on it. A Sacher torte is a kind of super chocolate cake. It has lots of layers, and the spaces between the layers are filled with apricot jam. And on the outside is lots of rich, dark chocolate frosting. The professor had made the Sacher torte the night before, and he had hidden it away in a cupboard to bring out as a surprise. But amid the fuss and flurry of getting ready for guests, he had forgotten all about it.