The Night of the Moonbow

by Thomas Tryon

  He left the door ajar and returned the way he had come, the steady beam of his flashlight illuminating the stairs one by one as he descended. Then, halfway down, he drew a swift breath, freezing in place as he leaned against the stair railing. Something besides himself was in the house!

  He stood poised for flight, all his senses honed to their sharpest edge. Though he held his breath, his heart was beating furiously, sounding to him like a drum announcing his presence. He waited several moments longer, then ventured onto the next step, and the next. He stopped again and waited, listening hard, his beam probing the dark. Nothing but empty corners did he see, and the floor of the lower hall. Nevertheless a chill ran through his flesh. He was inside the Haunted House, why should he not expect to see the ghost that went with it?

  He reached the bottom and stood in the lower hallway before the front entrance. Then, before he realized what was happening, the parlor door was thrown back, slamming hard against the wall with a great noise, and through the opening there rushed a dark menacing form, which threw itself upon him. The swift, hard impact knocked the breath out of Leo, muffling the cry that sprang to his lips as he felt himself being lifted bodily from the ground and carried from the newel post back along the passageway. Suddenly he found himself staring down into an open hole. The trapdoor had been thrown back. He was about to be pitched twelve feet down into the cellar!

  He flailed about and kicked his legs, struggling to free himself. At last a foot connected with his assailant, a hard blow that did its work; he was dropped to the floor, while, with a pained oath, his attacker fell back against the wall.

  Leo scrambled up and, dodging past the hole in the floor, ran out the door. Down the walk he fled, away from the dark house, stumbling, then sprawling; the cinders bit painfully into the flesh of his palms and his bare knees. Oblivious to the angry sting, he picked himself up again and without looking back headed down the road, racing along it as fast as his steps could carry him, while the dark trees overhead seemed to enfold him, and no moon shone to dispel the ghosts that threaded the deep and somnolent night.

  Once returned to Jeremiah, stretched out in his bunk - the jinxed bunk of Cabin 7 - Leo tossed and turned against the canvas, threading dark waking dreams of what he had seen and what had happened in those dusty rooms of the Haunted House, willing himself not to sleep so that he would not dream for real and cry out. Over and over he asked himself what it was that had driven him to the house in the first place, and found no answer. But of one thing he was sure. Staring at Reece’s empty cot, then feigning sleep as the counselor came in sometime between midnight and dawn and stood for a heart-stopping few minutes beside Leo’s bunk before settling into his own, he was sure who his silent attacker had been, the monster in the hallway. And, indeed, the next morning told the tale, for Reece rolled out of bed with a badly swollen eye, a circumstance concerning which he brooked no discussion in any quarter but one that provoked deepest surmise not only among the Jeremians but throughout the entire camp. Leo alone knew the truth, and he kept his own counsel, which wasn’t hard, given that no one was permitted to speak to him and he was unable to communicate with any other party.

  His trip to Scarsdale lasted for three days. This form of punishment was not unknown to him: at the institute a boy might easily be sent to “Siberia” when he had incurred the resentment of the powers that be. But he had never experienced it himself, never seen boys deliberately turn their backs and snub him, not exchanging any word of greeting day or night. Now he did see it, and he might as well have been a Martian, so remote did he feel from his fellow campers.

  Of his friends at Friend-Indeed, only Wanda and Fritz, who had made no secret of their contempt for the whole business (Fritz had even entreated Pa that reason and fair play should prevail, but Pa had replied that the matter was beyond his province to mitigate and that the camp’s honored traditions must be upheld); Ma, who would have cut off her arm before turning her back on any camper, no matter what his crime; and Willa-Sue spoke to him, the latter oblivious to Leo’s status, and going out of her way to engage him in a babble of fractured conversation at every opportunity - usually in front of others and making him appear more foolish than before. As for Tiger, he was too old and devoted a Friend-Indeeder to go against the rules, though he told Leo by diverse silent signals that he sympathized with his plight and was still in his corner.

  One bright note: after discussion with Ma, who had given him the okay, Fritz invited Leo to help out with the completion of the Austrian village, and the next day Leo was mustering his talents to work on turning out Lilliputian trees from sponge rubber and matchsticks, carving balsa-wood houses, and creating a bell tower for the burgomaster’s hall. But while he was grateful to Fritz for this special show of support, Leo was aware that in taking him on as his assistant Fritz was making enemies of his own.

  In the end it was Tiger who saw Leo rescued from his ignominy. He appealed personally to the Sachems’ Council, petitioning them to restore the wrongdoer to the camper community (Wasn’t their motto “A Friend in Need Is a Friend Indeed”? Wasn’t that what everyone here at Moonbow believed in?), and when the vote was taken the majority found in Leo’s favor. That evening the edict was formally rescinded and the Bomber proclaimed Leo’s new status by loudly saying, “Hey, Wacko, pass the bread and butter, willya?”

  Now, several days after his return to general favor, .is the normal roster of Moonbow handicrafters pursued their usual projects during morning crafts session, Leo, seated across the worktable from Fritz, was hard at work on a miniature paddle wheeler for the model. Already, on a platform temporarily attached to a work stand in the Swoboda Wood-Carving Shop, the model’s substructure was on view: a tiny corner of the Danube Valley in miniature, with the river sculpted from plaster of Paris, and a mountain (crumpled chicken-wire mesh overlaid with papier-mache made from cut newspaper strips soaked in flour-and-water paste). On the peak of the mountain would be sited the castle that was to be the crowning feature of the village.

  The paddle wheeler was by far the most complicated construction Leo had ever attempted, and he found the work both engaging and enormously satisfying; more satisfying even than collecting spiders, he decided, and for the moment he was content. When the sections of the tiny vessel lay pinned to a template, he straightened, kneading a fist in the small of his back. The muffled ringing of the bell startled him and he glanced out the barn door. Across the compound, at the west corner of the porch, Hank Ives was perched on a ladder, buffing up the bell’s bright chrome and keeping a watchful eye on Willa-Sue, who was sitting in the glider playing with her doll. Through the office window Leo could make out Ma’s green eyeshade as she sat in her swivel chair at her rolltop desk, cashing allowance chits for some of the campers and putting the cash into their envelopes. Just inside the door Honey Oliphant was speaking on the wall telephone, and he observed her through the rusty screen - she had on the white sharkskin shorts she liked to wear, and a pink halter - as she hung up, paid Ma for the use of the telephone, then came out onto the stoop to pet Harpo, sprawled on the warm brownstone.

  After a moment she crossed the compound and came to stand in the barn doorway. Leo’s mouth went dry and his hand began to tremble.

  “Gosh, haven’t you been busy?” she said, stepping to Fritz’s side. “May I look?”

  “Look your fill, by all means,” said Fritz, showing off the meticulously executed details added to the model in the past few days: a riverside hotel with tiny flower-planted window boxes, a church with a gleaming gold ball atop the steeple; the weathervane (made from a common pin and bits of gilded paper) on the tiny cupola of the burgomaster’s hall; the sign on the outdoor cafe by the river, which you could actually read - Die zwei schwartzer Schvannen, The Two Black Swans - and Leo’s unfinished paddleboat.

  “What’s the boat called,” Honey asked Leo.

  Blushing furiously, he couldn’t answer.

  “It’s called the Guldenbraut,” Fritz said, filling the
awkward gap. “It means ‘Golden Bride.’ ”

  Still Leo remained tongue-tied, and Fritz went on, describing how the summit of the mountain would be the site of the famous castle where the wicked Austrian Duke Philip had held Richard the Lionheart for ransom on his way back to England from the Crusades.

  “I want Leo to tell me about the castle,” Honey said, dimpling with enthusiasm. “Please?”

  She was teasing him, but he liked it, and somehow his shyness vanished. Hitching up his stool, he recounted the old tale, complete with “once upon a time”: how Richard waited in vain to be rescued by his treacherous brother, Prince John, who wanted the English throne for himself. “And then?” Honey asked, playing the game.

  “Richard had a faithful servant, a troubadour called Blondel, and he went in quest of the king, his master. And everywhere he went, to let the king know he was looking for him, he played a song he’d written, a favorite of Richard’s.”

  “Did Richard hear it?”

  Leo nodded soberly. “And he called down from his prison room, ‘Blondel, Blondel, here am I, your king imprisoned. Come free me.’ So Blondel helped the king escape his chains, and together they returned to England, where Richard was greeted lovingly by all his faithful subjects and—”

  “And lived happily ever after!” Honey’s gay laugh rang out and she clapped her hands like a child.

  Leo smiled. “I guess maybe he did.”

  She laughed her bubbly laugh again, but Leo now was staring down at the barn floor, where the sun had suddenly cast a long shadow. Reece Hartsig sauntered into the Swoboda corner. “What are you doing around here?” he said, eyeing Honey.

  “I stopped by to see how the work was going. See the pretty steamboat Leo is making? And the flags?”

  Reece tossed a glance at the table but made no comment.

  “You never did tell us what happened to your eye,” she said teasingly.

  He put his hand up to the fading bruise. “It’s nothing. I walked into a door,” he growled, staring hard at Leo, then abruptly ducked his head and disappeared up the steps, his heavy tread shaking the whole loft as he joined the radio-builders around the transmitter.

  “Honestly,” said the exasperated Honey, “he can be such a spoilsport sometimes. If you ask me, he’s jealous.” Her laugh lingered behind as she left the barn and took her bike from the rack near the office door. Leo watched her pedal away, then sat down on his stool again.

  “Come on, don’t look like that,” Fritz said, noting Leo’s downcast expression. “He’s just acting that way to make you feel bad. Honey’s right, he’s jealous, I’m sure of it.” 'He washed his brush in his jelly jar - he’d been adding some highlights to the foliage - then took the crosscut saw from the tool rack and went over to the dining hall to even-up the legs of Pa Starbuck’s chair.

  Preoccupied with fitting the paddle wheel to the boat hull, Leo was only vaguely aware of the sound of idle humming outside the barn until, glancing through the window, he noticed Willa-Sue sitting in the front seat of the Green Hornet. She was playing around with Reece’s radio.

  “Willa-Sue,” he said, keeping his voice down. “You better scram out of there.” But she just stood up on the seat and stuck her tongue out at him. He shook his head. “Naughty, naughty,” he chided her, and pointed up to where Reece was working. Reluctantly she obeyed him. The next time he looked she was happily ensconced in the glider again, blowing up a balloon. Leo watched as it grew larger and larger, a white balloon of an elongate shape. He hoped it wouldn’t pop in her face and set her to hollering. When she was done, she tied it and it sailed into the breeze - not strong enough to carry it aloft - and as it bobbed its way across the compound, she started blowing up another.

  Suddenly it dawned on him what the “balloons” really were, and, jumping up, he dashed for the door. As he raced across the compound, scooping up the inflated prophylactic, he heard Ma calling for Pa (“Oh Lord, just see what the child’s up to now!”), and by the time Leo reached Willa-Sue, the Reverend was also on the scene. But it was too late to stop the launch of the second balloon; as Willa-Sue squealed with delight, the thing spurted into the air in a gust of wind to catch on the utility wires strung from barn to house, where it hung in full view of the loft window, now crowded with the faces of boys - and, for a moment, that of Reece Hartsig.

  “Where did she get these nasty things?” Pa demanded of Leo. “Did you give them to her?” Leo flushed and stammered a denial. But how could he explain that the “balloons” had come from the glove compartment of the Green Hornet? “Well, get the dadblamed thing down!” Pa sputtered. Shaking his head, he retreated to the office, washing his hands of the whole business, as Reece stormed out of the barn and advanced across the compound toward

  Willa-Sue, still seated on the glider with his personal property lying with her dolly in her lap.

  “Give me that!” he snarled, snatching the wallet; the red packets she had taken from it fell on the ground, and he bent and scrabbled them up and stuffed them into a pocket.

  “Balloons,” Willa-Sue said, burring her lips and rolling her eyes.

  “You tell him, Baby Snooks.” Looking down from the loft window the boys couldn’t help laughing, which didn’t help matters.

  As Reece scowled up at them, then down at Willa-Sue, her features began to contort; a loud scream was on the way. Reece, the color drained from his face, seized her and began to shake her. But the effect, though hardly surprising, was the opposite of what he intended. Willa-Sue began to screech as if she were being murdered. In an attempt to silence her squalling, Reece shook her harder.

  “Don’t do that!” Leo raced across the turf, and tried to grab Reece’s arms to restrain him. From every barn window campers hung their heads out, shouting that Big Chief was being jumped by Wacko Wackeem, and Pa reappeared on the porch, now with Ma in tow, calling for Willa-Sue to come inside.

  In the midst of this bedlam Dagmar Kronborg’s Pierce-Arrow pulled into the drive. The car door opened and she hurried toward the porch to see what the trouble was. By the time she reached Reece, he had yanked Willa-Sue’s doll from her hand. He raised it overhead, then brought it savagely down against the mouth of the pump, smashing the china head into fragments. Screaming louder than ever, Willa-Sue ran to hide her tear-stained face in her mother’s skirts, and while Ma tried vainly to comfort her, Dagmar retrieved the headless doll from Reece.

  ' “What can you be thinking of!” she demanded, outraged. “A grown man picking on a child like that!”

  “She was in my car, the little nitwit!” Reece thundered. “In my glove compartment! She embarrassed me.”

  Dagmar made a sour face. “Oh, that is too bad,” she said tartly. “You know what she is as well as I do. Allowances must be made. Grown men don’t do this sort of thing, only spoiled little boys. Look at what you have done to this poor doll.” She shook the broken toy in his face.

  Humiliated in front of the campers ogling the scene from the barn, Reece turned away; his gaze fell on Leo.

  “It’s all his fault,” he said. “He was supposed to be watching her.”

  “No, he wasn’t,” declared Hank, who had by now climbed down from his ladder and walked over. “I was supposed to watch’er. Guess I got carried away with my polishin’. But don’t blame Leo, ’twasn’t his fault.”

  “Henry is right,” said Dagmar to Reece. “And it will do you no good looking for a scapegoat. Why should Leo be made responsible for the child?”

  “He’s always playing with her, isn’t he, encouraging her to act nutty?”

  “Don’t be asinine. You know you are talking utter nonsense.”

  Reece glowered at her; his frown deepened as he saw Augie taking a drink at the pump.

  “What’s he doing drinking from our cup?” he muttered. “He is thirsty, I expect,” Dagmar snapped. “Would you have him drink from the spigot?”

  But Reece was no longer listening. He had stormed away to the Green Hornet, where he vaulted ne
atly over the side and sped off in a cloud of dust.

  As he disappeared around the corner, Dagmar stared sadly at the broken doll. “What a shame. I wonder if it can be repaired.”

  Leo, down on his hands and knees picking the pieces from the dirt, looked up at her. “It’s a little like Humpty Dumpty, but I’ll try.”

  “Good!” she said, giving him an approving nod. Then she went into the office with Ma while Leo, having retrieved all the pieces he could find, retreated to the barn to see what could be done about making the doll whole again.

  ***

  A quarter of an hour later, order had been restored around the compound. The craftworkers had, for the most part, returned to their beaded belts and hammered ashtrays. Tears dried, Willa-Sue now swung in the rubber tire under the catalpa tree, while Leo, back in the Swoboda corner, tried to fit the fragments of the doll’s head together.

  When Dagmar reappeared, instead of driving away she came across the compound to lean in at the barn window. “But that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed of his work. “You’re meticulous,” she added. “I like that.”

  Leo blushed; he thought he was making a botch of it. The pieces of the doll’s head were chipped and made uneven joins, giving the face the look of a Frankenstein’s monster.

  “It will be better when the eyes are in,” Dagmar said. Leo shook his head. Though he’d scoured the area, he had found only one eye.

  “Well, in the kingdom of the blind the one-eyed doll is king,” Dagmar said, laughing, and Leo was forced to laugh too, though it embarrassed him to have her there while he worked.

  She waited until he set the doll down; then, when he looked up, she nodded approvingly. “I like your boat, too,” she said. “You are making strides.”

  “It’s really Fritz’s work,” Leo said. “I’m just helping him out.”

  “Don’t be so modest,” she retorted. “According to Ma, Fritz says you are very clever.”