Still More Tales For The Midnight Hour

by J. B. Stamper

  "What sort of food did your mother cook for you, Harry?" Lisa asked calmly.

  Harry looked up from his food with a surprised expression on his face. "You know I don't like thinking about my mother, Lisa," he said. "But now that you've brought it up, she made tuna noodle casserole."

  "What else?" Lisa asked.

  "That's all I remember, tuna noodle casserole," Harry said defensively. "Now can we drop the subject, please."

  From that night on, a plan began to form in Lisa's mind. She would help Harry get over his irrational fear of red meat. His mother had obviously been neurotic, and she had passed on her ridiculous ideas to her son.

  Lisa began to study her cookbooks. She needed to find a recipe that changed the texture and appearance of red meat enough to fool Harry. Finally she found something called Noodle Surprise. The main ingredient was noodles in a thick cream sauce spiced with paprika. But hidden in the cream sauce was finely chopped red meat. Lisa put a piece of paper in the book to mark the place. And then she smiled, trying to imagine Harry's surprise when he found out what he had eaten in Noodle Surprise.

  Lisa had to wait another week until the right day came for her experiment. One day Harry announced that he would have to work longer than usual the next evening, but he would be home in time for a late dinner. Lisa assured him with a smile that his meal would be waiting when he got home.

  The next afternoon, Lisa went to the supermarket and ran up to the meat counter. "One pound of your best beef for roasting," she told the butcher.

  She watched as the butcher reached for a tray of red meat in the display case. Lisa had never seen such red meat. The butcher cut off a large piece, weighed it, and wrapped it up. Lisa gently put it into her shopping cart as though it were precious caviar.

  Late that afternoon, she roasted the meat until it was tenderly done. Then she chopped it into fine pieces, stirred it into the cream sauce for Noodle Surprise, and put the dish in the oven to bake. She was just pulling the casserole out of the oven when she felt a kiss on the back of her neck.

  Lisa screamed and almost dropped the food. She whirled around to see Harry smiling at her.

  "It's only me," he said and then stared at the expression on her face. "Why do you look guilty?"

  "Guilty?" Lisa said, setting down the Noodle Surprise. "Don't be silly. I was just hoping to have dinner on the table when you came home."

  "What did you make?" Harry asked.

  "A special treat," Lisa answered.

  She brought the casserole of Noodle Surprise into the dining room and set it down in the middle of the table.

  "Lisa, your hands are shaking," Harry said as she spooned a large serving on his plate. "Did you have a hard day?"

  "Not really," Lisa said, putting some Noodle Surprise on her plate. "How was your day?"

  She asked Harry question after question to keep him from looking too closely at the food on his plate. Finally he took his first bite. Lisa held her breath as she watched him chew and swallow it.

  "Lisa," he asked. "What's that strange taste in this food?"

  Lisa's heart began to pound. "Paprika," she answered.

  "No, it's not the paprika," Harry said. "It's something else. I've never tasted it before." Harry took another forkful of the casserole and hungrily ate it. "Delicious!" he said with his mouth full.

  Lisa had to hide her smile behind her napkin as she watched Harry wolf down the food. She had never seen him eat so greedily.

  "More!" Harry demanded, pushing his plate out to her.

  "Harry, remember your manners," Lisa said, putting another huge serving on his plate.

  A strange sound came from low in Harry's throat as he began to eat the second helping. Lisa looked up in alarm.

  "Harry, did your stomach just growl?" she asked.

  Harry didn't answer. He finished the last forkful of food on his plate and pushed it across the table toward her.

  "More," he said again, but his voice sounded so strange that Lisa hardly recognized it.

  "Harry, really, I don't know what's come over you," Lisa said nervously, serving him more Noodle Surprise.

  "I... love... this... food," Harry said in the strange voice. Then he reached his hand out to pull back his plate.

  Lisa screamed. Harry's hand was covered with tufts of hair that looked just like his beard. She looked up at his face and saw a strange gleam in his eyes. Harry smiled at her, showing long, pointed teeth.

  Lisa screamed again and tried to tug the plate of food away from Harry. He pulled it back away from her.

  "No, Harry, no! Don't eat it," she pleaded. "It's red meat!"

  For a second, they both froze and stared at each other across the table. Then the doorbell rang. A weird expression came over Harry's face, and he jumped up from the table. Lisa rushed after him to the front door. Then she screamed as Harry flung the door open.

  A creature stood there smiling at Harry. She had graying hair all over her body.

  "Mother!" Harry growled.

  "Harry," the werewolf growled back.

  Then, together, they ran wildly out into the night.

  Lisa stood in the doorway, staring up at the full moon in the dark sky. She heard the sound of two howls echoing together through the night. Then she walked back into the dining room and sat down, alone.

  She knew she would never see Harry again. And she knew that she would never, ever eat red meat.

  The Magic Vanishing Box

  Ben had wandered into a part of the city that he'd never seen before. The streets were lined with antique shops and second-hand stores. As he passed by one old shop, Ben stopped to look at a display in its window. Sitting in the midst of other antiques was a tattered, black top hat with an old stuffed rabbit popping out of it.

  Ben wondered if it was a real magician's hat. Magic was his hobby. It was almost an obsession with him, in fact. He read everything he could about it and practiced tricks in his spare time.

  Ben went to the shop door and read the sign: Curiosities of the Past. He pushed open the door and went inside. One glance around the small one-room shop told him it lived up to its name. There were stuffed monkeys sitting beside huge brass candlesticks. There were life-size china dogs sitting on carved wooden boxes that looked like coffins. The shop was very curious, indeed.

  Ben began to look through the knickknacks and larger items displayed on the tables and shelves in the room.

  "May I help you?"

  Ben whirled around at the sound of the voice. He saw a stooped old man looking at him with piercing eyes.

  "I... I was just looking around," Ben stammered.

  "Take your time, take your time," the man said. "I'll be in the back if you need me. Ring this bell if you want to buy anything." The man gestured to an old brass bell by the cash register and then hobbled off into the back of the store.

  Ben shrugged his shoulders and continued to walk around the store. He took a closer look at the silk top hat in the window. It was a magician's hat, but he had no need for another one. Ben wondered if there might be other magic tricks in the store, old ones that he'd never seen before.

  For half an hour Ben lost track of the time as he searched through the jumble of odds and ends on display. Then something caught his eye. It was a shiny, black wood box about two feet square. Ben ran his hand over the smooth wood, the brass hinge at the front, and the brass-covered corners.

  But what interested him most was the little brass plate on top of the box. It was engraved with the words: The Magic Vanishing Box. With care, Ben unlatched the brass hinge at the front of the box and lifted the lid. Inside, there was nothing, just the empty interior of the black wood. Then Ben caught sight of another brass plate on the inside of the lid. It, too, was engraved with words: Don't catch your hand inside this lid, or else you'll be sorry that you did.

  Ben carefully shut the lid on the box and stared at it for a long time. What was a magic vanishing box? It was probably some sort of joke. Still, Ben wanted it more than he'd w
anted anything for a long time. He reached in his pocket to check the money he'd brought along for his trip into the city. Fifteen dollars. And he needed two dollars of that to get home.

  All he had to spend on the box was thirteen dollars.

  Ben picked up the box and carried it over to the counter by the cash register. He pressed his hand down on the bell. A shrill ding echoed through the store. Soon the old man came out from the back room. He looked at Ben; then he looked at the box. Slowly a strange smile spread over his face.

  An hour later, Ben was in his bedroom unwrapping the newspaper that the old man had bundled around the box. His hands were trembling as he set the shiny box on top of his desk. Again he read the words on the brass plate: The Magic Vanishing Box. Ben decided he couldn't wait any longer. He had to find out if he had spent his thirteen dollars foolishly. Carefully he opened the lid to the box and looked inside. There were no instructions except for the warning he'd read before: Don't catch your hand inside this lid, or else you'll be sorry that you did.

  Ben gingerly opened the lid all the way and then looked around the room. What could he experiment with first? His eyes fell on the blue dictionary that sat on his desk. It would just fit into the box, and he wouldn't care in the least if it vanished.

  Ben picked up the heavy book and set it into the bottom of the box. Then he cautiously closed the lid by holding on to its front brass hinge. He felt silly about taking the warning inside the box seriously. After all, it was probably just a practical joke. He snapped down the hinge into place and stood staring at the box. There were no magic words to say; no magic wand to wave. Ben waited for a few minutes, and then he opened the lid.

  The inside of the box was empty.

  Ben stared at the empty, black space for a moment, then he picked up the box to look under it. Nothing was there. Carefully, he shut the lid and turned the box over and over, looking for the secret to its magic. He knew there must be a trick. Things didn't just vanish.

  At last he found what he was looking for. On one side of the box, right beside the brass corner decoration was a small brass latch. Ben pulled it until it sprung; then a tiny drawer shot open from the side of the box.

  Ben stared down at the weird things inside the drawer. There was a tiny blue book lying beside a small, life-like figure of a boy. Ben picked up the book first. He squinted to read the small print of the title. It was a dictionary, a perfect miniature version of his dictionary. He flipped through the pages, and then suddenly let it drop as though it had burned him. How had the box done that? What kind of magic did it have?

  Ben's eyes were drawn to the small figure of the boy. It was only about two inches high and was dressed in old-fashioned clothes. The details of its face and clothing were so realistic that it could have been alive, except that it was so small.

  Ben set the tiny book and the figure on his bookshelf. Then he shut the secret drawer, opened the box lid, and looked around his room for something else to test. He still couldn't believe this was happening to him.

  He caught sight of his face in the mirror above his dresser. The freckles on his face were standing out against his white skin. He pinched his arm under his red football jersey, just to make sure he was awake. The box was the strangest trick he had ever used. And there was something even more strange. It didn't seem to be just a trick -- it was real magic.

  Ben picked up a pencil, put it in the box, and shut the lid. A minute later, he pushed the latch on the secret drawer. It shot open, and inside was a perfect replica of the pencil, so little that Ben could hardly pick it up.

  Ben looked at the clock in his room. He knew his parents would be home soon, and he wanted to keep the box a secret. But he had to try the trick just one more time. This time he would put in something unusual. He looked up and saw his transistor radio. Would the radio still be able to play music if it were turned into a miniature?

  Ben opened the lid of the box and reached up for his radio. It just fit inside the box. As he started to close the lid, Ben saw that the radio's antenna was sticking up. He reached one hand inside the box to push the antenna down.

  Just then his mother's voice called from downstairs, "Ben, we're home."

  Ben swung his head around in panic. Then the heavy, black lid of the box slammed down on his hand. For a second it hurt. Then Ben felt nothing.

  For a year the police searched for Ben. But the only clues they had to work with were the strange black box and the tiny book and figure they found in his room. Finally the police gave up. Ben's parents cleaned out his room and gave away his belongings. And eventually the black box made its way back to the old antique shop where Ben had bought it.

  The old man sat it back on its shelf. It waited there for another boy to come in and buy it. And that boy would find its secret drawer -- and, inside the drawer, a small life-like figure of a boy with freckles wearing a red football jersey.

  Wait Till Max Comes

  One dark and stormy night, a stranger walked down a lonely road between two villages. He had traveled for several miles without seeing a house, and he was growing more and more worried about the weather.

  A cold wind had sprung up, whipping the tree branches around and blowing dust into his eyes. The sky was dark with angry thunderclouds, even though sunset was still an hour away. Then a streak of lightning cut through the black clouds, making everything suddenly bright It was followed by a rumble of thunder that rocked the earth.

  The man stopped in his tracks and began to tremble. There was going to be a terrible storm. He had to find shelter.

  He peered through" the trees that lined both sides of the road, but the light had grown so dim that he could see nothing but shadows. Then another jagged bolt of lightning shot through the sky. The man looked up and saw the silhouette of a house against the sky. It sat on top of a hill above the road.

  The man waited, and another flash of lightning came. By its light he saw the entrance to a narrow lane along the road. He stumbled over to it and started to climb the winding path up to the house.

  Hard drops of rain splattered down on the man's bare head. The ground beneath his feet became slippery, as it grew wetter and wetter. By now the man was panting from trying to run up the hill. He began to doubt whether this lane led to the house at all.

  Then suddenly he walked out of the narrow lane and into a clearing. A streak of lightning shot across the sky and lit up a huge house with pointed gables and dark windows that looked like sinister eyes. The man drew back and gasped. The house looked like an evil animal, crouched in the dark. He thought about running back down the lane to the road.

  But then the wind sprang up even harder, whipping the cold rain against the man's body. He ran for the house and found the front door. To his surprise, the latch opened when he tried it. Cautiously he crept inside and shut the door behind him.

  The house was as still as a tomb. The man could hear the pounding of the rain outside, but inside all was silent. He fumbled in his pocket and found a match. He struck it, and the burst of flame lit up the hallway he stood in. A pair of candlesticks sat on the table nearby. He lit a candle, picked it up, and began to walk through the house.

  The first room he stepped into had a big fireplace with wood stacked in it. The man bent down and lit the wood with his candle flame. Before long, the room was filled with the warm crackle of a burning fire. The man could see the broken-out glass in several of the windows and the thick layer of dust that covered everything in the room.

  He sat down in the chair that was pulled up by the fireplace and warmed his cold, weary body. Perhaps he was safe here after all, he thought.

  The man had just shut his eyes to sleep when he heard a soft, little cry. He opened his eyes and saw a small, gray kitten sitting on the hearth by the fire. It looked up at him and meowed again.

  The kitten made the man feel even more peaceful and secure. Once again, he shut his eyes. Then he heard another cry. This time it was louder and stronger. He opened his eyes and saw a full-gro
wn, striped cat sitting beside the little, gray kitten. Now four green eyes stared back at him from the hearthside.

  The man liked cats, so this did not bother him very much. Once again, he shut his eyes.

  "What will we do with him?"

  The man's eyes flew open. Who had said that? He searched around the room. But he saw only the two cats sitting by the fireplace. It must have been his imagination, he told himself.

  Then he saw the striped cat turn to the gray kitten and say, "Wait till Max comes."

  The man started to tremble and squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe he was losing his mind. Then he heard another sound, a very loud hiss.

  He looked at the hearth and saw a third cat, yellow and as big as a dog, sitting beside the other two.

  "What'll we do with him?" the striped cat asked.

  "Wait till Max comes," the yellow cat said.

  The man began to wonder how fast he could run for the door. But it was too late. Just then, a fourth cat walked into the room. It was as big as a leopard and as black as the night. Its eyes were yellow instead of green and they looked the man over from head to toe.

  "What should we do with him?" the yellow cat asked.

  "Wait till Max comes," the black cat said. Then it sat down in front of the doorway.

  The man looked at the four cats staring at him hungrily. Then he looked over at the window nearest him that had its glass broken out. With one leap, the man sprang from the chair and jumped out the window.

  "Tell Max I couldn't wait!" he screamed.

  The man ran home, locked himself in his house, and never came out again. For he knew that somewhere, out there, Max was waiting for him.

  The Old Beggar Woman

  It was a time of hardship and poverty in the villages along the New England coast. The crops had failed, and food was scarce. Beggars, wearing tattered clothes and haunting faces, roamed the countryside asking for food or shelter for the night. Good people shared the little they had with the starving poor. But one person turned away from them and admired her plump image in the mirror.