The Thirteenth Curse

by Curtis Jobling

  “Yeah, that must be it,” she said with an amused snort. “Good to go?”

  “Ladies first.”

  “Don’t be getting all chivalrous on me.”

  Max grinned and set off first. Syd might act like a tomboy, but he knew there was a girl beneath the disguise. Her olive skin was flawless, and (although he’d never tell her) her hair always smelled of strawberries.

  In the distance, the towers and office blocks of Boston reached for the sky. Gallows Hill was removed from the hustle and bustle of the city, but it wasn’t a sleepy town. Far from it. This was where many of Max’s people lived, humans and monsters alike trying to get by and get along with each other. The regular folks of Gallows Hill—the “norms,” as Max called them—had no idea that another society lived and thrived alongside them.

  Max stared through the wrought-iron railings as they cycled beside the graveyard. The world beyond took on a life of its own, graves and headstones flickering by as if viewed through a zoetrope. A crow kept pace with them, flying above the sleeping dead, its beady black eyes fixed upon the two cyclists. The Van Helsing family crypt was there, deep in the cemetery’s heart. Max would visit it on occasion, to feel closer to his father and contemplate his crazy life. People said the graveyard was haunted by the ghosts of witches hanged during the trials of old, and the neighborhood kids did their best to keep that legend alive. It was the oldest burying ground in all of New England, and Helsing House’s close proximity was no coincidence. Everything seemed to be haunted by something in Gallows Hill. Rumor had it Max’s school had its own ghost, though it had yet to introduce itself to him.

  The crow cawed, its harsh call stirring Max from his daydream before it winged off into the graveyard’s depths.

  “Seriously, though, you promised me on Friday you’d be on time today. ‘I’m turning over a new leaf on Monday.’ Those were your words. Did your weekend go loco? If you make me late I’ll give you such a beatdown.”

  “I went hiking in Walden Woods last night. It took more out of me than I expected.”

  “You? A hike?”

  “Yeah. It was a work thing.”

  “Oh,” said Syd, arching an eyebrow and nodding.

  Max felt lucky that there were no secrets between him and Syd. She knew all about what his work entailed. She’d first witnessed it when the two were in their last year of elementary school together. Syd had lost a baby tooth unexpectedly while chomping on an apple, and Max had jumped in swiftly to purchase it from her. It had cost him a week’s allowance, but he’d happily parted with the cash. Intrigued, Syd followed the boy after school to a derelict dentist’s office, where she discovered Max feeding her abandoned incisor to a wizened and grateful tooth fairy. Her gasp had given her away to the tiny creature and the Helsing boy. From that point on, Max had welcomed Syd into his world. Now she helped him out on jobs, supplying him with gadgets and gizmos she created.

  “Then there were the house chores,” Max continued. “Jed never gives me a break. And this morning he gave me a puppy. That was kinda left field.”

  Syd squealed. “Ooh! A puppy?”

  “Why does everyone keep doing that?”

  “Because it’s a puppy, Max! Puppies are cute!”

  “When I say puppy, I mean it in the loosest possible sense of the word.”

  “You can be so mean, Max Helsing. I’m sure he’s precious. What’s his name?”

  “Eightball. You can meet him tomorrow, if you’re still coming for dinner. You clear it with your folks?”

  “I cleared it with my mom,” she snapped. “Perry’s not my dad. They’re going off on some date. And besides, I wouldn’t miss your party for the world.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a party. Party suggests streamers, paper hats, and a crowd. It’s just a gathering of people I care about.”

  “Aw, you’re such a sweetie!” Syd reached across and rabbit-punched him in the arm. The Chopper veered away, threatening to careen into the road before Max righted it again. He sucked his teeth. Syd punched harder than any girl he knew. Harder than most of the boys, too.

  “Maybe I’ll get you an alarm clock as a gift,” she said, picking up the pace as they climbed the hill past the creepy All Saints Church. The last school bus appeared, destined to arrive right at the bell.

  “You’d miss this.” He grinned, pedaling furiously.

  They turned the corner and hit an intersection, only a block away from the school now. The light shone red, halting their progress momentarily, as traffic barred their path. Parents’ cars drove south back down the hill, away from the middle school, overprotective moms and dads having safely deposited their little darlings. Hearing shouts across the road to his left, Max caught sight of a panicked sixth grader dashing down the intersecting street, away from the school.

  Max sighed, drawing Syd’s attention. “Check that out.”

  Two eighth graders followed the boy into the side street, laughing. Max recognized one of them straightaway: Kenny Boyle.

  “Dude,” said Syd, tapping his shoulder and pointing up the road toward the school. “We’re so close!”

  “You’re right, we are.”

  Boyle was a head taller than Max, a great streak of sneer and sinew topped off with a shock of red hair. Max knew where he stood with most monsters, but he was less sure when it came to humans. He knew one thing about Boyle, though: the eighth grader was a stone-cold bully.

  “This isn’t your fight,” Syd reminded him.

  Even from this distance, they could spy the stunted figure of Principal Whedon at the gates, ushering children across the threshold. He was staring up at the school’s clock tower, watching the hands shifting slowly, inexorably closer to eight o’clock. Then the bell would sound and the gates would close.

  “Max, if you miss that bell . . .”

  “I know, I know,” he said, nodding. He straightened the high handlebars, pointing the Chopper dead ahead, up the hill toward the school. The crossing light counted down, flashing and beeping. “Be on time. Turn over a new leaf. All that good stuff.”

  The light changed. Walk.

  Max pushed off, taking a hard left and setting off down the intersecting street, straight after the bullies and their victim.

  “It’s not your fight!” shouted Syd.

  “It never is!” came the reply as he pedaled away. The girl shook her head and continued up the hill, racing toward a glowering Principal Whedon at the school gate.

  Max found Boyle down an alley, the sixth-grader in his grasp as he shook him down for lunch money. His henchman was tipping the contents of the poor kid’s schoolbag onto the ground and sifting through it.

  Max jumped off his Chopper, booted the kickstand, and dashed up to the trio. He slammed Boyle hard in the back, forcing the older boy to release the poor kid. Boyle turned, snarling, unrattled. As the bully’s fist connected with Max’s face, he thought he could hear bells ringing.

  He did. It was the school bell. He was late.

  Again.

  THREE

  xxx

  ALL KINDS OF VERMIN

  Max stood outside the principal’s office, across the hall from Kenny Boyle, and smiled. It took some effort, for a number of reasons. First, Boyle was an intimidating fool who took delight in picking on those smaller than him. Second, the mere sight of the sneer on the eighth grader’s milk-pale, freckled face brought on a wave of nausea that made Max want to hurl. And third, and perhaps most importantly, the young monster hunter’s fat lip felt like it might tear apart at any moment, thanks to the powerful punch Boyle had landed.

  One thing made the painful smile bearable: Boyle’s left eye had swollen shut, the bully’s features frozen mid– Popeye impression. It was sure to become the mother of all black eyes as the day progressed. In all fairness, it wasn’t technically Max’s handiwork. He’d ducked during the melee, and Boyle’s frie
nd’s fist had caught the lanky lout in the face. It seemed Max was being blamed, but he didn’t mind taking the credit.

  Max’s yo-yo descended toward the floor and back up into his palm. He had been here before, preparing to experience the principal’s hair dryer impression—a blast of hot air delivered straight to one’s face—on numerous occasions. Like his forefathers, who were touched by magic through generations of interaction with monsters, Max had developed certain special powers, but those powers were useless when dealing with Whedon.

  Mrs. Perlman, the elderly school secretary, kept watch over both boys as she tapped away on her keyboard. Occa-sionally she’d stop typing to fiddle with her hearing aid, listening in on the conversation that was under way in the office. Max could see the silhouette of Whedon’s visitor through the door’s frosted glass panel, and could hear the man’s rumbling voice. There was a burst of awkward laughter—Whedon’s. Max shifted nervously as the door finally opened.

  The two men exited the office and clasped hands in a friendly shake. Never a good sign, figured Max. Chief Boyle had clearly come straight from work, his police hat tucked under his arm. The police chief had the same red hair as his son, only his was thinning on top and graying at the sides. Whedon, a good head shorter than Boyle, pumped his hand vigorously.

  “Good man, Whedon,” said Boyle gruffly, a distinct Bostonian twang to his voice.

  “It’s my pleasure,” said Whedon cheerfully, his face creased by a great, fawning grin. “And please, call me Irwin.”

  The chief glowered at Max, sending shivers up and down the boy’s spine. The yo-yo went slack in his hand, losing its rhythm as Max reeled it in and pocketed it. The police officer popped his hat back on and ran a finger across the visor. Max had encountered all manner of monsters in his short time on earth, but Chief Boyle gave him the heebie-jeebies. The man turned back to the principal and nodded.

  “Thanks again, Whedon. Come on, son, let’s get you out of here. You’re taking the rest of the day off. How about a frappe on the way home?”

  It was the bully’s turn to smile as he rose and followed his father out of the room. Max winked and mimed the word ouch, pointing at his own eye. Boyle’s grin slipped as he vanished through the door.

  “Come by anytime, Chief!” Whedon called after them. He reminded Max of a lovestruck sixth grader who’d fallen for the eighth-grade quarterback. “And remember, it’s Irwin!”

  Max stifled a snort of laughter, regretting it instantly. Whedon turned sharply. He straightened his brushy black mustache with a thumb before extending a stubby finger toward his door.

  “My office. Now.”

  Max slumped past Mrs. Perlman into the room. Whedon closed the door behind him, stalking around his desk before settling into his leather chair. The principal lounged back in the seat, bringing steepled fingers to his chin. He was doing his best Bond villain impression, and it wasn’t very good. Max had been more intimidated by Chicago-style deep-dish pizzas.

  The young monster hunter saw a chair on his side of the table. “Mind if I take a seat, Irwin?”

  The bristles of Whedon’s mustache twitched, hairs rippling along his lip like an angry caterpillar. “You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you, Helsing?”

  Of course Max thought he was funny, at least when it came to dealing with Whedon. But even if the man was the lumpiest, dumpiest, grumpiest fellow he’d ever met (when it came to humans, anyway), Whedon was also the guy who would eventually send Max on to high school. As things stood, Max’s report card was going to look like a horror screenplay. If he didn’t turn a corner with his behavior soon, there’d be serious long-term repercussions. Monster hunting was his reason for being, but as Jed often reminded him, he still needed an education.

  “No, Principal Whedon,” he said finally. “I don’t think I’m funny. Sorry, sir.”

  “That’s more like it,” said the little man, chest puff-ing out.

  “If I could just say one thing, sir. What happened this morning; that was all Boyle. He and Walker were bullying that sixth grader. I was just trying to help—”

  “Young Boyle and his friend were assisting that lad after he’d dropped his schoolbag. The younger boy told me so himself.”

  Great, thought Max. Boyle had clearly gotten to the sixth grader, intimidating him enough to lie on his behalf.

  “Helsing, let me give you some advice. Nobody likes a busybody. You need to knuckle down, start cutting out the dumb decisions.”

  Max was startled. “Dumb decisions?”

  “You could actually make something of yourself one day, boy. But the way you’re going, you’ll be cooling your heels on a street corner with the bums. I’m trying to help you out here. You think I enjoy shouting at you?”

  Max didn’t answer, instead letting the principal rant on.

  “Grow up. Take responsibility for your actions. You think life’s all fun and games, getting cheap laughs at the expense of hardworking people. Your father was the same. I went to school with him, you know.” Max knew this fact, but again remained quiet. “A lazy individual, a show-off and poseur, always swanning off on vacation somewhere or other, shirking his responsibilities.”

  Max cringed. It was well known that Conrad Helsing had died young, and that Jed had raised the man’s son as his own. And those weren’t vacations; they were monster missions. But how on earth could Max explain any of this to his principal?

  Whedon leaned across his desk and pointed at Max, jabbing his finger in the air repeatedly.

  “I’m watching you. Step out of line again and I’ll have you out of Gallows Hill Middle School quick as a flash. You might think me cruel now, but you’ll thank me for these chats one day. I’m providing you with that one thing that’s missing from your life: discipline.”

  Max nodded, pretending to be suitably admonished. “Is that all, sir?”

  Whedon waved his hand as if dispersing a terrible smell. “You’re dismissed.” Max trudged to the door, relieved to be leaving the tyrant behind.

  “One more thing, Helsing,” said the principal as Max slowly opened the door.

  “Yes, sir?”

  Whedon handed Max a pink slip of paper. “Detention, after school.” The man’s smile poked out from beneath that hideous excuse for a mustache. “Have a nice day.”

  FOUR

  xxx

  HUNCHES AND HEADSTONES

  Dusk was closing in when Max finally left school. He and a handful of other miscreants had spent an hour in the company of Ms. Kingston, the young librarian keeping her watchful eye on them as they sat and did their homework. That hour had probably dragged on for the other kids, but Max had rather enjoyed it. He found plenty of interest in the history section and even hung around for an additional hour to share a fascinating conversation with Ms. Kingston on Native American folklore. All in all, time well spent. He’d be sure to thank Irwin the next time he saw him.

  As Max’s Chopper churned up leaves on the sidewalk, Syd’s BMX rolled down the street alongside him. She was still wearing overalls from her afternoon spent in Mr. Landis’s machine shop, with sunglasses perched atop her head. Unsurprisingly, Whedon was the topic of conversation.

  “He may be a jerk, but it sounds like his heart was in the right place,” said Syd.

  “You’re seriously defending him?”

  “No, I’m trying to see from his point of view, is all. He’s a teacher at the end of the day, and when he looks at you he sees . . . well . . .”

  “What?”

  “Trouble,” she replied with a shrug. “It’s never far away, is it? Lurking off your shoulder like some shadowy specter.”

  “School’s a distraction from the serious stuff—from my real work. Whedon thinks I’m just a troublemaker.”

  “Trouble magnet would be closer to the truth,” Syd said, laughing. “I did warn you this morning, though, didn’t I? You
need to start staying out of trouble.”

  Syd was speaking from the heart, having learned the hard way. Just a year earlier, she’d been caught breaking and entering the school on a dare, using her mechanical know-how and a well-placed lock pick to spring a skylight on the roof. Her so-called friends fled, and she was left for the police—and bailed out by Jed. Since then, she’d ditched that whole crowd and stuck closer to Max.

  “It’s not like I go looking for trouble,” said Max as they approached the top corner of Gallows Hill Burying Ground, the familiar black railings coming into view. “But I always seem to land in it. And Boyle got taken out for a milk shake!”

  “Don’t worry. Bullies always get what’s coming to them.”

  Chief Boyle was a bully and didn’t seem to be suffering unduly. “Anyway, enough of my trials and tribulations.” Max sighed. “What are you working on at the moment?”

  “Officially, I’m helping Mr. Landis renovate an old VW Beetle. Unofficially, I’m modifying an antique crossbow.”

  Syd was never happier than when she was in the garage, up to her elbows in grease. Machines were her passion. The rest was just background noise.

  Max pulled on his brakes, but Syd didn’t notice. He sat up in his saddle, craning his neck as he looked through the railings. The cemetery was cloaked in mist, headstones rising like jagged mountain peaks through a boiling blanket of clouds. Syd went on down the road, oblivious.

  “Jed was throwing it out—can you believe it? He can be shortsighted sometimes, the old—”

  She suddenly realized Max was no longer beside her. She brought the BMX to a halt and looked back.