by Dan Poblocki
Wham!
This time when the noise came, like a gunshot, Eddie felt as if something inside himself had exploded. His breath caught in his throat. “H-hello?” he struggled to say, though at this point, he wasn’t sure he wanted an answer.
Creee …
A new sound called out—sustained and high-pitched like the wail of a child. Then—
Wham!
Pinpricks danced across Eddie’s skin. “Harris, if you’re fooling around …,” he called out. It felt good to make noise, as if the quiet itself was dangerous. Stepping around the corner of the building, he noticed a railing that jutted out from the library three-quarters of the way back. Beyond the railing, a stairwell led down to the library’s basement. A gust of wind whipped along the side of the building, rustling Eddie’s hair.
Suddenly, the high-pitched sound came again. That nerve-shattering bang followed a few seconds later.
Eddie jumped.
The sounds were coming from the stairwell. Creeping along the side of the library, he was finally able to catch a glimpse of the door at the bottom. It opened slightly, revealing a small gap of pitch darkness on the other side.
Creee, sang the rusty hinge. Then the door closed with a soft ffudd. The wind hadn’t slammed it as hard this time.
His mother’s voice ran through his head: I wish my imagination were half as wild as yours, Edgar. I’d be a bestselling novelist by now.
Eddie sighed and clutched at his hair. “So stupid!” he whispered to himself. “Someone must have accidentally left it open.” To prove to himself that he had no reason to be frightened, he followed the path to the top of the cement stairs, which lay perpendicular against the side of the building. Five steps down, a shadow cut across the stairs where the orange spotlight could not reach. The battered door hid in a dark archway at the bottom. When the wind caught it again, the door opened outward. Only then did the light catch the top of it, before it slammed shut.
Wham!
Even though he now knew what it was, the sound still made Eddie jump. He shook his head and was about to head back to the front steps when he saw something shift in the shadows at the base of the stairs. In the center of a small circular storm drain, dark weedy tendrils grew, flopping in the breeze. Weeds usually wouldn’t catch Eddie’s attention, but for a brief moment, he was sure he’d seen something else down there as well. Curious, he took a couple steps down. That’s when he was certain.
Amid the weedy tendrils grew a small purple flower.
Could it be …?
He felt his bones flood with an excited, electric feeling. Had he really found another of Nathaniel Olmstead’s inspirations? If so, might there be some sort of clue at the bottom of the stairs? He cautiously made his way down for a better view. The smell of mildew grew pungent. The bottom step was almost entirely covered in greenish-black slime. Balancing on the edge of the stair, Eddie bent down and examined the flower. About an inch in circumference, it consisted of seven deep-purple velvety petals. Six of the petals clung to a seventh, larger petal. The seventh petal hugged the pistil and stamen before lolling away from the bottom of the flower, its color growing black at its sharp, almost barblike tip.
Creee …
The wind opened the basement door slightly as Eddie reached out and touched the stem. It felt like any ordinary flower, but it didn’t look like any ordinary flower. Unless he was mistaken, Eddie didn’t know of any botany book in which Gremlin’s Tongue was actually listed. The only book in which Eddie had ever heard of the flower was Nathaniel Olmstead’s. This flower certainly fit the description.
“Eddie?” Harris’s voice sounded far away.
Looking up briefly, Eddie called, “I’m down here! I think I found something!” Suddenly, the wind whipped down the stairs. Inches away, the door slammed shut. Wham! Startled, Eddie slipped on the wet moss, and he tumbled face-first onto the ground next to the storm drain.
Moments later, he heard stifled laughter above him. When he looked up, Eddie saw Harris’s amused face peering at him over the railing. “Are you all right down there? What the heck are you doing?”
Eddie felt like he didn’t have time to be embarrassed. He scrambled to his feet. “You have to see this.”
“See what?” said Harris, walking around to the top of the stairs.
“Look,” Eddie said, pointing to the storm drain.
Harris came down a few steps. He squinted. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”
When Eddie looked at the drain again, the flower had disappeared. All that remained of the plant were the leaves poking through the slimy metal bars. “But it was just here. …”
“What was just here?” Harris met Eddie at the bottom of the stairs.
“The flower,” said Eddie. “I saw it. … It looked just like …”
“Like this?” said Harris, bending over. The purple flower lay crumpled near the wall, severed from the rest of the plant. When Eddie saw it, his stomach began to hurt. Harris picked up the flower and handed it to Eddie.
His heart thumping, Eddie held the flower’s stem between his thumb and forefinger. It seemed to squirm as the breeze rustled its petals. An awful scent oozed from it—like old food left in a sink of dirty dishes. “Oh no,” he whispered. He had a feeling that he’d just made a huge mistake. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I must have accidentally broken the stem when …”
“What’s the big deal?” said Harris. “It’s a flower. Let’s get out of here. We’ve got stuff to do.”
“Look closely,” said Eddie, holding the flower out for Harris to see.
“If I look any closer, it’s gonna poke me in the eye! What are you getting at?”
Frustrated, Eddie took a deep breath. “Doesn’t it look like a Gremlin’s Tongue?” he said.
Harris took the flower back again. He looked closely, then held it up to his nose and sniffed it. “Like the ones from Nathaniel Olmstead’s book?” He wrinkled his nose.
“Am I crazy for thinking that?” said Eddie, embarrassed. “Or is something really strange going on here?” The hinges began to screech again as the door slowly opened. A small dark gap appeared between the door and the frame. The awful smell grew stronger—rotting food mixed with the scent of musty old books.
Creee …
“Ugh! They need to fix this thing,” said Eddie, glaring at the door. He brought his foot back, then kicked the door as hard as he could. It swung, but before it could slam shut, it stopped with a dull thud. Something just inside the basement archway cried out in a loud, rough shriek. This new sound was not squeaking hinges.
“What … was that?” said Harris.
Before Eddie could answer, the door began to open again, this time more quickly. The gap grew wider as the darkness inside the basement revealed itself to him. Instinctively, Eddie reached out his hand and stopped the door. He began to push it closed.
But something pushed back.
Wide-eyed, Eddie pressed all his weight against the metal door. It slammed shut with another wham! Eddie turned around and leaned his bag against it. He tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. Harris stared at him. Then the door rattled as whatever was on the other side gave it one hard jolt. Eddie screamed and pressed his back into the metal, his feet sliding on the slippery ground.
The night was quiet for a moment. Harris shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but Eddie was thrown forward as the thing in the basement resumed its assault. Harris slammed himself against the door, stopping it from swinging wide open. Eddie recovered, and the two boys pressed it shut with all their strength. The door bounced again and again as the thing on the other side fought back, ferociously trying to escape. Then suddenly it stopped.
After a moment, Harris whispered through his teeth, “You picked that flower.”
“Yeah, but not on purpose!”
“So what?” Harris said. “You shouldn’t have come down here.”
“I was looking for clues to the code!”
“We a
lready knew that some of the things in Nathaniel Olmstead’s books were real. Thanks to you, we know the Gremlin’s Tongue gremlin is real too!”
Eddie knew Harris was right. He shuddered, imagining the creature listening to them from the other side of the door, inches away. They wouldn’t be able to stand there holding the door shut forever, especially if the pounding started again. Even though he hadn’t meant to pick the flower, Eddie’s face flushed in shame. He should have been more careful. Anyone who’d read Nathaniel Olmstead’s books knew that to pick a Gremlin’s Tongue would release its keeper.
At least now Eddie knew the Olmstead Curse was most definitely real—not that he’d had many doubts after what happened at the lake in the woods. “I don’t hear anything,” he said. “Is it gone?”
Harris pressed his ear to the door. He listened for a moment, nodded, then said, “Now might be our only chance.”
“To do what?”
“Run,” Harris whispered, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and pulling him away from the door.
Cold air rushed into Eddie’s lungs as he took a huge breath and raced up the stairs behind Harris. By the time they reached the top, the door at the bottom had swung open again.
Wham!
Eddie didn’t wait to see what had been behind it. Together, the boys ran toward the front of the library, their feet smacking against the concrete sidewalk. They dashed around the corner toward the main entrance. Eddie’s own bike sat quietly next to the rhododendrons. He noticed that Harris had chained his bike to the rack. No time to unlock it. As they raced up the front steps, Eddie whispered, “Please be open. Please be open. Please be open.” He stretched out his arms to push the front door, but just as he was about to fling the full force of his weight against it, the door swung inward.
“Ugh!” two voices cried in unison, as together Eddie and the person on the other side of the door tumbled to the floor.
Harris scrambled into the library behind them. He slammed the door shut and leaned his weight against it, panting.
After a moment, Eddie noticed that the person on the floor was Maggie Ringer. The books she’d been carrying were scattered across the rug. She winced in pain as she tried to sit.
“I’m so sorry!” Eddie exclaimed. “We were running from—”
Harris nudged Eddie’s leg with his foot.
“We were just running. Like … for fun?” He struggled to his feet. After he stood up, he offered his hand to Maggie, who still seemed to be in shock.
“Great. Well, next time, it might be more fun for me if you look where you’re going,” she said.
“Are you kids okay?” The librarian, Mrs. Singh, came out from behind her desk. “Why are you standing like that?” she said, looking at Harris.
“We’re fine,” said Harris, pressing his back against the door. Just then, something slammed against the glass. Harris screamed, then quickly composed himself, bracing the door even harder. His sneakers slid a bit on the rug. He squeezed his eyes shut and said, “Just fine.”
“What the heck is that?” shouted Maggie. She pointed at the door, just beyond Harris’s feet. Through the glass, Eddie saw what Maggie was looking at. He clutched at his mouth to hold back a scream.
On the library’s top step stood a creature unlike anything he’d ever seen. It was about a foot tall. Its skin was bruise-purple. Twists of vine and clumps of dirt and dead leaves littered its greasy green hair, which hung from its head almost all the way down to the ground. Other than this strange cape of thick hair, the creature was naked. The gremlin watched them for several seconds with its yellow catlike eyes, then smiled viciously with its wide greenish lips. It raised its little hand, as if to wave, then brought it down hard against the glass.
Wham!
The door rattled, and once again, Harris screamed.
“A rabid monkey?” said Eddie, feeling foolish even as the words came out of his mouth.
“Does this door lock?” Harris asked quietly.
Mrs. Singh flittered forward, keeping her wide eyes on the thing on the doorstep. “A monkey?” she said, her voice trembling into a weird operatic register. “That is not a monkey.” She reached around behind Harris and turned the latch. “Excuse me, please,” she said. Something inside the door clicked. It was now locked, so Harris stepped away from it.
“Thanks,” Harris said to Mrs. Singh. Turning around, he saw the creature staring at him. The thing opened its mouth and tried to bite the glass. Its tiny purple stump of a tongue flipped and flopped like a dissected worm, sliming the door with saliva. Then, from two small pockets on either side of its mouth, several thin green tendrils began to unfurl, their barbed tips tapping and scratching at the breath-fogged glass.
Holding her hand to her mouth, Mrs. Singh uttered a horrified squeak. “I’m calling the police!” she cried, running back toward her desk.
The creature smacked the door with its hand again. This time, the glass cracked a bit. The thing’s mouth-tendrils squirmed to the edge of the door, as if searching for a way inside. The three kids scrambled away.
“That is not a monkey,” Maggie repeated.
“What are we going to do?” said Eddie, glancing toward Mrs. Singh. “We’ve both read The Curse of the Gremlin’s Tongue, Harris. You know the police won’t be able to help us.”
Harris shook his head in frustration. Then his face lit up. “You’re right!” he said. “The police can’t help. But you can!”
“Me?” said Eddie. “How?”
“You know how! You were the one who picked the flower. He wants to eat you!”
Eddie felt nauseated. “So? That’s not a solution! He can’t eat me!”
“I know that. We won’t let him,” said Harris, pulling Eddie away from the door. Maggie stayed behind, fascinated by the little monster who continued to watch them from the other side of the glass. “You picked the flower. Only you can send him away. Don’t you remember how?”
Eddie racked his brain. He knew the answer to this question. He’d only just reread the book a day ago. The answer hit him. “Right!” said Eddie. “I’ve got to speak to him in his own language.”
“Exactly,” said Harris.
“Hello, Wally?” said Mrs. Singh from behind her desk, holding the phone to her ear. “Come quickly. We’ve got another problem.” She glanced at them and said, “You kids, uh … stay calm.”
Another problem? Eddie didn’t have time to think about what she meant by that. He smiled and nodded at her. “We’re calm,” he said, then quickly turned back to Harris. “I need to put the flower under my tongue,” he whispered. “That way, he’ll understand what I say.”
Maggie spun around and shouted, “What sort of craziness are you two talking about?”
Ignoring her, Harris said, “So where is the flower?”
Eddie felt his stomach drop to the floor. The flower! Had he dropped it? “I don’t know,” he whispered.
The creature whacked the glass again. The crack grew, spidering out nearly four inches.
“Hurry!” Harris cried. “Check your pockets or something!”
Eddie shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. Save a few pieces of gritty lint, they were empty. Then he searched his coat pockets. When he reached into the one on the right, he felt something small and soft crumpled at the bottom. Cautiously, Eddie pulled out his hand. In his palm, the flower lay, crushed into a little ball. He must have shoved it in there at the bottom of the stairs.
“The flower is ruined!” said Eddie.
Outside, the creature made a shrieking sound. His eyes went wild. His nostrils flared. He banged the door again. This time, the glass shattered. Pieces of it flew onto the rug. The thing’s mouth-tendrils skittered nervously across the threshold. Maggie screamed and dashed away from the door. She ran behind Mrs. Singh’s desk. The librarian shouted at the gremlin, who was now crawling through the smashed hole in the door, “Shoo! Get out of here!” Then she turned her attention to Eddie and Harris. “Boys! Get away from there!” She moti
oned for them to join her and Maggie behind the desk.
Eddie almost wanted to start laughing—he knew that hiding behind a desk wouldn’t stop the monster.
“Do it anyway,” said Harris, ignoring Mrs. Singh. “Put it under your tongue.”
“But—” Eddie began to protest.
“It can’t hurt!” cried Maggie. She sounded terrified and confused. Eddie knew she had no idea what was going on, yet she might be right.
Standing amid the shards of broken glass, the creature flashed its hideous teeth. Suddenly, it scrambled forward, reaching for Harris’s ankles.
Instantaneously, Eddie shoved the crumpled flower into his mouth and swished it under his tongue. It was dry and gritty and tasted like mold. Eddie wanted to throw up, but he managed to keep from gagging.
He meant to shout STOP at the creature, but when he opened his mouth, what came out was something totally different. A deep, resonant voice, completely unlike his own, burst from his throat: “HEST-ZO-THORTH!” The sound of it shook the room, unsettling the dust from the highest bookshelves. Shocked, Eddie covered his mouth, afraid to open it again.
“It’s working,” said Harris, shaken a bit himself.
The creature froze several inches from the spot where Harris had been standing a few seconds earlier. It stared at Eddie, as if in surprise, waiting for further instructions. It retracted the tendrils back into its mouth with a loud slurp, like someone messily eating a plate of spaghetti. Eddie didn’t know what to do next. The flower seemed to squirm under his tongue, as if trying to escape his own mouth. If Eddie didn’t keep speaking, he knew the flower would somehow manage to spit itself out, and the creature would continue on its path toward its terrible meal. He tried to remember what Kate, the character from Nathaniel Olmstead’s book, had said to her own gremlin when it had attacked her and the baby during the thunderstorm.
I meant no harm. Please forgive me. Leave us in peace.
Or something like that.
Eddie tried to speak, but the strange voice inside his mouth again spoke its own words instead, “NO-KOWTH JAWETH THUN-E-ZATH! SAHWL-KA PA-TEP ZHEP-TA! OM-VHEM HEPATH!”