Hocus Pocus Hotel

by Michael Dahl

  Ooooooh-ooooooohhhhhh!

  The boys stared at each other. The voice had returned.

  “This guy is starting to tick me off,” growled Tyler. He rushed out of the room and strode down the hallway.

  “Where are you?” he called out. “What’s your problem?!”

  Charlie followed him, listening closely to the phantom sound.

  “Mister Ken … ahhhh … uhhh … Mister Ken …”

  The moan echoed through the hall.

  “Wait here,” said Charlie.

  He rushed back to the hallway where he had earlier noticed the ghost’s voice growing softer. Yes, it was still soft in that area.

  Charlie walked down the hall until the voice seemed louder again.

  There has to be a logical explanation, he thought.

  He dropped his backpack onto the carpet and knelt down. He fished through one of the pockets to find his notebook and a pen. He wanted to write down all the clues they had discovered so far.

  Then he noticed something. When he was kneeling down on the floor, the sound was louder.

  What is going on? he thought.

  Staying on his knees, he crawled to one side of the hall. No, the sound was normal. Then he crawled to the other side. The voice was louder.

  Charlie stared at the dark wall. The wallpaper design of big black flowers stretched all the way to the floor. But in the dim light, Charlie could see that there was a small vent disguised in the black petals. He pressed an ear to the vent and heard the ghostly voice loud and clear.

  He sat up and called out, “Hey, Tyler! Come here!”

  Tyler rushed into the hall. “You saw it?” he asked.

  Charlie shook his head. “No,” he said, “but I heard it.” He pointed at the vent. Tyler bent down and listened closely. They both heard Mister Ken’s name cried out again.

  “I know where it’s coming from,” Tyler said suddenly.

  “Where?” Charlie asked.

  Tyler shuddered and said, “The basement!”

  On the way downstairs in the elevator — this time, it was Brack’s — Charlie made a quick list on his notepad of the clues and questions they had.

  “You have the hunter’s gleam in your eye, Master Hitchcock,” said Brack. “Do I detect that you have solved the puzzle?”

  “He better have solved it,” muttered Tyler.

  Charlie grinned and told Brack, “Well, I’ve solved at least part of it.”

  Leaning in to look at Charlie’s list, the operator raised an eyebrow. “So you have juggled all your clues and evidence together,” he said, “and that’s why you are traveling to the basement?”

  “We always end up in the basement,” said Tyler.

  “But the mystery was solved upstairs on the ninth floor,” said Charlie. “Down here we’ll find out who’s behind the mystery.”

  The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. “Good luck,” said Brack. “I hope your solution turns tragedy into comedy.”

  As the elevator doors closed behind them, Tyler looked down at Charlie and said, “That guy is always saying weird stuff.”

  Weird, but full of clues, thought Charlie. Tragedy and comedy?

  “I think he’s pretty smart,” Charlie said. “Anyway, where should we go?”

  Tyler shrugged and pointed. “This way,” he said. “Follow the pipes.”

  Long metal ducts snaked across the ceilings. As they walked deeper into the basement, more and more of the ducts appeared from different directions. They connected and joined together, forming even bigger pipes, and all running in the same direction.

  They all passed through a wall near an orange door labeled BOILER ROOM.

  When they opened the heavy orange metal door, Tyler and Charlie were met by a blast of thick, warm air. All the ducts entered this room. Half of them flowed into the dozen metal boilers. The boilers heated air. Then the air was carried by the other ducts to the vents on all the hotel’s floors.

  “If someone could be heard through that vent,” whispered Tyler, “then they must be somewhere in this room.”

  Charlie grabbed Tyler’s T-shirt. “Look! Over there!” he said.

  A man’s shadow covered one of the room’s cement walls. His hands fluttered up and down in a strange way, as if he were brushing aside spider webs. Or as if he were a magician casting a spell.

  His hands stopped. “Mister Ken,” they heard him say. Then the man’s shadow disappeared.

  “Hurry!” said Tyler. “Before he disappears!”

  The boys dashed around the row of boilers. A young man turned abruptly, a surprised look on his face. He was surrounded by nine bowling pins. A heap of metal spoons and rings was lying at his feet. Behind him lay a neatly folded shower curtain.

  “You’re the ghost!” accused Tyler angrily.

  “Ghost?” repeated the man. “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s not a ghost,” said Charlie. “He’s a juggler.”

  “Juggler?” repeated Tyler.

  “Mr. Thursday, right?” asked Charlie.

  The man bowed toward them. “Thursday the Master Thrower,” said the juggler. “And I’m sorry about taking these things. But I had to practice.”

  “And your luggage was lost by the airlines,” said Charlie. “Along with your usual props, like bowling pins, juggling rings, and metal rods.”

  “Exactly,” said Thursday. “I just borrowed these items to use until mine turn up. I always planned to return them. I even folded the shower curtain!”

  “Your luggage just got here,” said Charlie. “We saw it up in the lobby.”

  “Slow down,” Tyler said. “What’s going on?”

  “He’s another performer,” explained Charlie. “Like the magicians who live here. And just like any performer, he has to practice every single day.”

  “But why do you practice down here?” asked Tyler.

  “Because the ceiling’s high enough,” said Mr. Thursday.

  “So we were hearing you practice through the vents,” said Tyler. “The vents next to this wall must go right up to the ninth floor. So, who is this Mister Ken guy?”

  “Mister Ken?” Mr. Thursday said. “Who’s that?”

  Charlie smiled. “He wasn’t saying Mister Ken,” he said. “We just thought he was. I finally figured it out when I realized what all three objects had in common.”

  “What do you mean?” Tyler asked.

  Charlie explained, “I was thinking, ‘What would someone use rings, spoons, and bowling pins for?’ Then I thought, ‘Of course! Juggling!’ Then I realized that what we were hearing was Mr. Thursday rehearsing his act.”

  “What does that have to do with Mister Ken?” Tyler asked.

  Charlie smiled again. “There is no Mister Ken,” he said.

  “Okay, I really don’t get it,” Tyler said.

  Charlie said, “Whenever he dropped a spoon or ring or pin, he would say to himself, ‘Missed again, missed again.’ That’s what we were hearing. We just thought he was saying Mister Ken, but he was giving himself a hard time for screwing up while practicing.”

  Thursday blushed above his beard. “It’s a bad habit of mine,” he said.

  “It just sounded like ‘Mister Ken,’” said Charlie.

  “I have to practice every day, otherwise I get rusty,” said Thursday. “I would have asked to use these things, but it was supposed to be a surprise.”

  “A surprise for what?” asked Tyler.

  “For the magic show,” said Mr. Thursday. “Of course.”

  “Wait a second,” Tyler said. “What magic show? I haven’t heard about any magic show.”

  “A magic show like the ones the Abracadabra had in the old days,” said Thursday. His voice was full of excitement. “And you haven’t heard about it because it’s a surprise,” he added. “The magicians here are all organizing it.”

  “Wow!” said Tyler. “Mom will be so excited about all this. She’ll love it!”

  “Do me a favor,” Thursday
said. “Keep it a surprise, for now. There are going to be a few shows coming up. The big one will take us a while to prepare.”

  “Got it,” Tyler said. Charlie nodded.

  Thursday rubbed at his beard. “Uh, you don’t mind if I keep practicing, then, do you?” he asked.

  “What? Oh, no, knock yourself out,” said Tyler. “But it would be better if you used your own stuff, since it’s here. Can you help me take these bowling pins back upstairs?”

  “No problem,” said Thursday.

  * * *

  Later, after Charlie, Tyler, and Mr. Thursday had returned the missing objects to their rightful places, Charlie stood in the lobby next to the front doors. It was still raining outside.

  He stared at the tall painting of the former Abracadabra, the hotel’s founder. He was studying the magician’s eyes.

  Tyler walked up to him. “Hey, you might want this,” he said. He handed Charlie an umbrella. “People always forget theirs when they leave the hotel, so we have lots of extra ones lying around.”

  “Thanks,” said Charlie.

  “No problem,” said Tyler. “Well, so it wasn’t a ghost after all. And Mom won’t deduct my money now to pay for the missing stuff.”

  “Great,” said Charlie.

  “Well, see you at school,” said Tyler. He started to walk away. But then he stopped, turned, and added, “But remember, don’t talk to me in the halls.”

  Charlie nodded and smiled. At school, he was the brain. Tyler was the bully. Everyone had their separate place at school. No one would ever suspect them of working together. But in the magicians’ hotel, it was as if they became new people.

  When Tyler had disappeared into his family’s living quarters, Charlie hurried over to the row of elevators. He pushed the button.

  Just as he had hoped, the car on the far left opened.

  “Going up, Master Hitchcock?” asked Brack.

  Charlie stepped briskly into the elevator. He watched his reflection in the shiny golden doors as they slid closed.

  “This is where you saw the phantom of old Abracadabra, right?” asked Charlie.

  “What’s on your mind, young man?” asked the operator. The elevator car began to rise.

  “Puzzles,” said Charlie.

  “More puzzles?” asked Brack.

  Charlie nodded. “Someone stole the shower curtains from the other rooms on the ninth floor,” he said.

  “So I hear,” said Brack.

  “But it wasn’t Mr. Thursday,” Charlie said. “Why would he? He only needed a dozen metal rings for practice. Besides, how would he get inside those rooms?”

  “I’m not sure,” Brack said.

  “Someone who knew how to get the passkey could do it,” Charlie said. “Someone who knew how to palm things. Someone who could hang around the front desk and not be suspected. Like an old and trusted employee, maybe?”

  “Maybe,” said Brack.

  “And why would those other shower curtains be taken?” asked Charlie.

  “Hmm,” said Brack.

  “Maybe to throw off suspicion from Mr. Thursday,” Charlie said. “Because if his shower curtain was the only one that disappeared, people might investigate him. They might find him in the basement, practicing. And that would spoil the surprise of the show.”

  “Perhaps,” said Brack.

  “Also, how would Thursday know where to practice his juggling?” Charlie went on. “This was his first time in the hotel. Only someone who knew the hotel like the back of his hand could tell him where to find a great rehearsal space.”

  “Could be,” said Brack.

  “And finally,” said Charlie. “Who’s the mysterious cleaner?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Brack.

  “The old theater,” Charlie said. “The floor of the stage has been recently swept. Maybe mopped. It was shiny. That doesn’t make any sense at all! It should have been dull and covered with dust.”

  “Why do you think that?” asked Brack.

  Charlie shrugged. “Tyler said no one had been in the theater for years,” he said. “So it shouldn’t have been clean. If anyone had been in there, he certainly would have heard about it. Since he hears about everything. I even rubbed my hand along the back of one of the seats. It was clean too. Someone was getting the theater ready for a show.”

  “Incredible,” said Brack.

  “And of course, I remembered certain things you said to me when Ty and I got off the elevator,” said Charlie. “You said I had juggled the clues together. Mr. Thursday turned out to be a juggler.”

  “Isn’t that interesting,” said Brack.

  Charlie nodded. “Then you said you hoped my solution to the ghost mystery would turn tragedy into comedy,” he went on. “The faces carved into the doors of the theater are the famous faces of Tragedy and Comedy. I’ve seen them before. You can find them in lots of theaters. They’re an old tradition.”

  “You know a lot of things, Master Hitchcock,” said Brack.

  “I read a lot,” said Charlie. “And I have —”

  “An acute visual memory,” finished Brack. “I know.”

  “You know a lot, too, Mr. Brack,” said Charlie. “Your words to me in the elevator proved it. You knew what was going on all the time.”

  “I keep my ears and eyes open,” said Brack.

  “Someone is putting on a show,” said Charlie. “Like the shows in the olden days.”

  “Is that so?” Brack said, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Yes,” Charlie said. “You know all about it. Thursday was invited to be part of it. Mr. Madagascar, up on the thirteenth floor, is planning on his comeback.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Brack said.

  “I’m guessing Mr. Madagascar is probably going to be in the magic show too,” Charlie said.

  “Perhaps he is,” Brack said.

  “And who better to plan a magic show like the old days than a magician from the old days? And who better from the old days than the greatest magician of them all?”

  “Who indeed,” Brack said.

  “Abracadabra,” Charlie said.

  Brack smiled. “You would make a good magician yourself, Master Hitchcock,” he said. “How did you solve this mystery?”

  “Lots of little things,” said Charlie. “But I really started thinking about it when you told us you saw the ghost here in your elevator. You pointed, and I looked at where you pointed, at the shiny doors.”

  “Aha,” said Brack. He smiled.

  “I saw my reflection in the doors,” Charlie explained, “and that’s when I started to put the pieces together.”

  “Of course,” said Brack. “I am impressed, Master Hitchcock.”

  “When you look at your reflection, you see a ghost from the past,” Charlie said gently. “You see Abracadabra.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Brack. “It’s the eyes. Hair turns gray and falls out, ears grow bigger, wrinkles attack your skin. But a person’s eyes stay the same.”

  “Just like the painting in the lobby,” said Charlie. “That was my final clue.”

  “I could never leave the hotel,” said Brack. “It’s my home. And I feel protective of the other magicians here. We don’t have many places left, magicians. Not the ones from the old days, anyway. So I decided on this new disguise, this new identity.”

  “And a new name,” Charlie said.

  Brack smiled. “Yes,” he said. “And a new name.”

  “Brack is short for Abracadabra,” said Charlie. “I guessed that, too.”

  “You guessed very well,” said the magician. “And you seemed to have solved all the puzzles. Well done. So I guess this is for you.”

  Brack pulled a gold card from his uniform pocket and handed it to Charlie. Charlie looked down at it.

  “Thank you, Mr. Abracadabra,” said Charlie, holding the golden ticket.

  “My pleasure, Master Hitchcock,” said Brack.

  The elevator stopped.

  The doors slid open.

&nb
sp; Beyond, Charlie saw the roof of the hotel. Trees bloomed in concrete planters. Flowers were planted in careful paths. There was a stone walkway that led to a stone house, with small, warm windows and odd-shaped towers.

  Charlie knew without being told that it was Brack’s house.

  “Would you care for a cup of hot cocoa?” asked the magician.

  “But who’ll operate the elevators?” asked Charlie.

  “It’s all automatic,” said Brack, smiling. “I don’t think anyone will mind if the hotel’s two puzzle masters take a short break.”

  Charlie opened his umbrella, and the magician and the boy walked toward the house.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  MICHAEL DAHL grew up reading everything he could find about his hero Harry Houdini, and worked as a magician’s assistant when he was a teenager. Even though he cannot disappear, he is very good at escaping things. Dahl has written the popular Library of Doom series, the Dragonblood books, and the Finnegan Zwake series. He currently lives in the Midwest in a haunted house.

  ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

  LISA K. WEBER is an illustrator currently living in Oakland, California. She graduated from Parsons School of Design in 2000 and then began freelancing. Since then, she has completed many print, animation, and design projects, including graphic novelizations of classic literature, character and background designs for children’s cartoons, and textiles for dog clothing.

  On Friday at three o’clock, Tyler Yu and Charlie Hitchcock stood together just inside the back doors of Blackstone Middle School.

  Each of them clutched a packet of paper. All around them, other students took books from their lockers, packed their bags, and made plans for the weekend.

  It was an ordinary Friday afternoon. There was nothing at all unusual about the scene.

  Except that Ty was the biggest bully in school, and Charlie was best known for his photographic memory, and they weren’t supposed to be friends.

  “Okay,” Ty said. “This is where we split up.”