The Skull of Truth

by Bruce Coville

  Charlie hesitated, then swept off his cap. The principal’s eyes widened, but a second later she smiled. “You’re in Gilbert Dawkins’s class, aren’t you? Good work, Charlie.”

  Feeling a little more solid, he smiled back and headed for the classroom. Even so, he hesitated in the hall before going in. Finally telling himself he was going to have to face the class sooner or later, he counted to three and thrust open the door.

  He was greeted by several gasps, a couple of giggles, and a snort of laughter from Mark Evans.

  Mr. Diogen, who was standing at his desk, looked startled. But then he winked at Charlie and gave him a thumbs-up sign.

  Charlie headed for his seat. As he passed Gilbert, his friend put out his hand.

  Charlie held out his own, and they slapped palms.

  When the class came back from music, Charlie found a note from Karen Ackerman in his desk: “You did better than I thought you could! You’re pretty cool, Charlie.”

  This reaction was not unanimous. He noticed Mark Evans scowling at him several times throughout the morning, and when the class went outside for recess, Mark and several of his cronies maneuvered Charlie into a corner.

  “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, Eggleston?” said Mark.

  “Not as smart as I’d like to be,” said Charlie truthfully.

  “Not as smart as you need to be, you little suck-up,” sneered Mark, just before he kicked Charlie in the stomach.

  Charlie hit the ground, hard. Mark and his friends turned and headed in different directions, moving casually, as if nothing had happened.

  Charlie pulled himself to a sitting position and sat doubled over, clutching his stomach. He was still trying to fight back tears when Gilbert sat down next to him.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You never do,” said Gilbert.

  They sat side by side, their bald heads shining in the sun.

  Charlie would have liked to walk home with Gilbert that afternoon but couldn’t, of course, because Gilbert wasn’t walking. He also wanted to go back to the swamp. But he was afraid that if he did that, Mark and his gang might jump him again.

  So he went straight home. To his pleasure, Karen Ackerman walked part of the way with him.

  When he reached his house, he found his uncle sitting on the porch, waiting for him.

  “Hey,” said Charlie, still standing on the front walk.

  “Hey,” said Bennie. “Nice haircut.”

  Charlie blushed.

  “Your mom told me about why you did it. I thought it was a terrific idea. How’d it go over at school?”

  “Okay,” said Charlie, shrugging.

  Bennie sighed. “Are you mad at me?”

  Charlie thought about that. “No, I’m not mad.” Then, remembering the last conversation he’d had with Bennie on this porch, he added, “But I could be. Just last Saturday you sat right here and told me, ‘Love is nothing to be ashamed of.’ Weren’t you embarrassed to be lying like that?”

  It was Bennie’s turn to blush. “I’ll admit I didn’t follow my own advice, Charlie. But that doesn’t mean I was lying.” He looked away for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “Sometimes when you say something to someone else, it’s because it’s what you need to hear yourself. What I said was the truth: I shouldn’t have been ashamed. I didn’t gain anything by hiding the truth, you know. Oh, I probably spared myself a little grief from Aunt Hilda and Uncle Horace. But at the same time I missed out on some real support from your mom and dad.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to cause a fuss, I guess. And I didn’t want to lose anyone’s respect. But what kind of respect do you have if it’s based on a lie, anyway?” He shrugged again. “I’ll head out if you want me to. I don’t want to make you nervous.”

  “You don’t make me nervous,” said Charlie. “Well, maybe a little. Mostly I just think it’s yucky.” Bennie laughed. “And I think those bloodthirsty horror stories you read are yucky. Who knows what makes people like what they like? Now listen, I’ve got a news flash for you.”

  “I don’t know if I can stand another one.”

  “Well, you’re not going to like this one, but you probably ought to know it. There’s going to be a town meeting at the library Friday night so Harley Evans can present the plans for that industrial park of his. Dave got a press release on it at the studio this morning. He knows how you feel about the project, so he passed the information on to me.”

  “What am I supposed to do about it?” asked Charlie, vaguely annoyed that Dave had done something thoughtful.

  Bennie shrugged. “Nothing in particular. I just thought you’d want to know.”

  On Tuesday morning Jeff Parker, Emmett Abbott, and Porky Gibbons came to school with shaved heads. They hung out with Charlie and Gilbert on the playground, and the five of them decided to call themselves The Billiard Balls.

  Wednesday morning Mr. Diogen joined the club.

  By Thursday more than half the boys were bald, and the local paper sent someone to take their picture.

  It would have been a great week, if not for two things: (1) the skull continued to insist something was coming to get it, and (2) for reasons Charlie couldn’t understand, Mark Evans seemed to take each kid who shaved his head as a personal insult.

  When Charlie mentioned this to Gilbert, his friend said, “Well, have you noticed that all the people who shaved their heads have something else in common?”

  “What?”

  “They want Mark’s father to give up his plan to drain Tucker’s Swamp. Maybe we should organize a protest march. Baldies to Save the Bog, or something.”

  “As if it would do any good,” said Charlie glumly. He was beginning to understand that while not everyone in town approved of Mr. Evans’s project, those who did approve were definitely in the majority.

  However, Charlie was firmly convinced that was only because they didn’t know the real truth.

  On Friday Charlie went to school with nothing on his mind but the town meeting and the question of how to save the swamp. His attention was brought back to the here and now when he noticed someone else had joined The Billiard Balls.

  Looking again, he was astonished to see it was Karen Ackerman.

  “What do you think?” she asked, running her hands over her shiny skull. She sounded proud, and a little nervous.

  “I think you’re amazing,” said Charlie honestly, having learned a little something since the last time he was asked that question.

  Karen seemed to take this as a compliment. “I was so scared when I did it,” she whispered.

  “I know what you mean,” said Charlie.

  “But I thought what you guys were doing was so . . . I don’t know, so right, I guess . . . that I wanted to be part of it. Have you noticed how happy and comfortable Gilbert has been since you started this?”

  “Not really,” said Charlie. Then he added, very quickly, “But I’m not very good at that stuff.”

  “Good enough. So can I be an official member of The Billiard Balls?”

  Charlie smiled. “I don’t think we have official members. But as far as I’m concerned, you’re in.”

  When Karen smiled back he almost said something embarrassing again, but managed not to.

  That day at recess Karen hung out with Charlie and Gilbert.

  “Hey, it’s Swamp Boy and his band of baldies,” said Mark Evans, when he went strolling past with a group of his friends.

  “Me Swamp Boy. Me Proud Defender of Environment,” replied Charlie solemnly, causing Karen to giggle.

  “Defend all you want, Swamp Boy,” said Mark. “After my dad’s meeting tonight, your pet swamp will be as good as empty.”

  Charlie tried to come up with a suitable reply, but couldn’t. It didn’t make any difference, because it was at that moment that he figured out how he was going to stop Mr. Evans.

  “I’m not sure, but I may need to tell another person about you,
” Charlie said to the skull when he got home that afternoon.

  “Cool! I could use a new audience.”

  “You think it will be all right?” asked Charlie, somewhat surprised by this response.

  “Well, did the old man tell you not to? I don’t know myself, since you never showed me his letters.”

  Charlie hesitated. “He just said to be careful what I said, and who I said it to.”

  “That leaves you a lot of room to maneuver. But remember, you’ll still have to get whoever it is to look into my eye sockets and ask me a question before I can communicate with them.”

  “I know,” said Charlie.

  Then he went to call Gilbert.

  “I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Dawkins, when she answered the phone. “Gilbert’s not feeling very well. He’s sleeping right now.” She paused, then added, “I’ve been meaning to thank you for what you did the other day, Charlie—about your hair, I mean. You’re a good boy.”

  “Thanks,” he whispered. He hung up, wondering just how sick Gilbert really was, and unsure whether he truly wanted to know the answer.

  He sat in the hall for a while, then picked up the phone again. “Karen? Hi, it’s me—Charlie. Can you meet me behind the school in about half an hour? I need to talk to you. It’s about saving the swamp.”

  Karen arrived on her bike. She was dressed in jeans and a dark blue T-shirt, and since she was totally bald, it was hard to tell whether she was a girl or a boy.

  “What’s in the box?” she asked as she sat down next to Charlie.

  Hoping not to have to get into details, he said, “It’s kind of a secret. But if you help me sneak it into the auditorium at the library, it may help us stop Mr. Evans from draining the swamp.”

  Karen looked at him suspiciously. “Is it, like, a stink bomb or something?”

  Charlie shook his head. “It’s not. I promise.”

  “Well then, what is it?”

  Charlie hesitated. He could say, quite truthfully, that he didn’t want to tell her. But he knew that would not satisfy her. “It’s something . . . special,” he said, somewhat vaguely. He paused, then added slowly, “If I show it to you, will you promise not to get scared or upset or anything?”

  “What is it?” she asked again, more suspicious this time.

  “It’s nothing bad,” said Charlie. “It’s just kind of . . . weird.”

  “Hey!” said Yorick, in a voice only Charlie could hear.

  “What is it?” asked Karen for a third time. She was clearly getting impatient.

  Charlie took a deep breath. “It’s the Skull of Truth. He’s sort of a friend of mine. The thing is, when people are near him, they have to tell the truth.”

  Karen rolled her eyes skyward. “Yeah, right. Look, if you don’t want to tell me, just say so.” She stood and started to walk away.

  “Wait!” cried Charlie. “I’ll show you!”

  She turned back.

  Charlie opened the box and took out Yorick. Karen gasped. “Is that real?”

  “Of course he’s real!”

  “But isn’t that against the law or something? Where did you get it?” Her eyes widened. “Charlie, you didn’t dig it up in the cemetery, did you?”

  It was Charlie’s turn to roll his eyes. “Of course I didn’t. If you don’t believe me, ask him.”

  “Ask who?”

  “Him. The skull. His name is Yorick. Look him in the eye sockets and ask him a question.”

  “Charlie, if this is some kind of joke . . .”

  “It’s not! I promise.”

  She looked at him closely. “All right, I’ll try. But if this is some stupid trick, let me tell you right now, I’ll never talk to you again as long as you live. And that’s a promise, too.”

  Charlie said nothing, just held out the skull.

  Karen looked at it with revulsion. “Do I have to hold it?”

  “I guess not. I just thought it would be easier. I’ll hold it if you want.”

  She nodded. Then, looking into Yorick’s eye sockets, she whispered, “Who are you?”

  The sockets began to glow. Then, speaking in a voice that both of them could hear, Yorick said, “Actually, ‘Who are you?’ is a very profound question.”

  Karen screamed and scrambled backward. “How did you do that?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” said Charlie.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” added the skull. “It’s just that I was thinking about it. I mean, you could say I am a child of the universe. Or you could say I am a profound mystery. You might even say—”

  “Yorick, shut up,” said Charlie.

  “Sheesh. Some guys got no sense of wonder.”

  “Charlie,” whispered Karen fearfully, pressing her fingertips to her hairless temples. “That voice . . . it was inside my head.”

  “That’s how he communicates.”

  She looked at Charlie intensely. “How did you do that?” she asked again.

  “I’m not doing anything. It’s the skull. If you don’t believe me, try telling a lie. You won’t be able to.”

  “Okay, my name is—” She stopped, and her eyes grew even wider. “I can’t do it!”

  “Of course you can’t,” said the skull.

  “Stop that!” snapped Karen.

  Yorick sighed. “She’s not being very gracious,” he said, in a voice only Charlie could hear.

  “Give her a break. She’s not used to this kind of stuff.”

  “Who are you talking to?” asked Karen.

  “The skull,” said Charlie.

  Karen turned to Yorick and said sharply, “If you’re going to talk about me, I want to hear it.”

  “Make up your mind,” Yorick replied.

  Karen jumped, but then nodded. “Okay, I believe you. You’re real. Where did it come from, Charlie?”

  “Another profound question,” said the skull.

  “It’s a long story,” said Charlie. “I promise to tell you the whole thing later. Right now I just need to know if you’ll help me sneak him into the meeting room at the library. I want to be sure Mr. Evans tells ‘the truth and nothing but’ when he talks about that swamp draining project tonight.”

  Karen smiled. “Why, what a lovely idea, Charlie!”

  “I thought you’d think so. Now help me figure out how we’re going to get this thing in there.”

  “I am not a thing,” said Yorick primly. “I am a child of the universe.”

  “Is he always like this?” asked Karen.

  “No,” said Charlie. “Sometimes he’s even worse.”

  “It’s a gift,” said Yorick smugly.

  “Perfect!” cried Karen. “That’s how we’ll get you in!”

  THIRTEEN

  Down the Draining

  Charlie shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

  Karen smiled. “We’ll disguise Yorick as a gift.”

  “Huh?”

  “Look, you can’t just walk into the library with a skull. And if you try to put that cardboard box up on the stage, someone’s bound to open it to see what’s inside. Either that or just throw it away.”

  “Heaven forfend!” cried Yorick.

  “But if you put something that looks like a gift up there, everyone will assume it’s for some sort of presentation and leave it alone. We may even be able to hide it right in the podium.”

  “Isn’t that sort of like lying?” asked Charlie nervously. “I mean, it’s not like we’re actually going to give Mr. Evans the skull.”

  “You’d better not!” said Yorick.

  Karen looked exasperated. “Of course we’re not going to give him the skull! But we are going to give him a good dose of the truth. It’s not lying, it’s just . . . oh, you know—that thing magicians do.”

  “Misdirection?” offered Yorick.

  “Is that the gimmick where they get you to look at one thing while the important thing is going on somewhere else?” asked Karen.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “
Then that’s it.”

  Charlie looked at Karen nervously. “Boy, you’re trickier than I thought.”

  “Do you want my help or not?” she asked impatiently.

  Charlie smiled. “Let’s go find some wrapping paper.”

  An hour later they entered the library, carrying Yorick in a gift-wrapped box. Charlie was still a little surprised, since he had half expected the wrapping paper to fall off, or the tape to refuse to stick, or something.

  When they went downstairs to the theater the janitor was onstage, setting up an easel. He started to ask what they wanted, but Karen lifted the package, then put a finger to her lips. He winked at them and returned to his work.

  Charlie looked at Karen in amazement. The whole reason he had told her about the skull in the first place was that he thought he would need her to create a distraction so he could sneak it into the room. And here she just walked in with it. He couldn’t figure it out. As far as he could tell, he would have told fifteen or twenty lies by the time he got this far—or at least he would have, back in the days before he got the skull. Now he had no idea what he would have done if she hadn’t been with him.

  As they left the room Charlie glanced back toward the stage. He had told Karen the story of how he got the skull while they worked. Now some of the words from Mr. Elives’ first letter flashed into his mind: Under no circumstances should you let the skull out of your possession!

  “I hope I’m doing the right thing,” he muttered nervously.

  Charlie returned to the library an hour later with his parents and his uncle. The ride over had been a little tense, since Charlie’s father was in favor of Mr. Evans’s project, while his mother and his uncle were opposed to it.

  Mr. Evans was already sitting onstage, along with several important-looking men, including the mayor. They were all dressed in dark suits and had extremely shiny shoes. Beside the lectern stood the easel, which now held a stack of charts and illustrations. Two microphones had been set up at the front of the room for people to ask questions, and a television crew had stationed itself at the back of the room. Charlie realized with a start that Dave was one of the crew. Because he had not yet decided how he felt about Dave, Charlie pretended not to see him.