They hurried to the parlor. Jonathan pointed to the TV screen. “Listen to this!”
The news announcer was saying, “Astronomers now believe that the unusual red comet visible last July must have been destroyed. It vanished behind the sun in August and should have reappeared by the first of this month. Something, scientists say, probably collided with it, perhaps a small asteroid. That was enough to knock the comet off its normal orbit, and it either broke up completely because of the sun’s gravity or, more likely, fell straight into the sun. In other news . . .”
“Well!” said Mrs. Zimmermann. “Good news if I ever heard it. That’s one less thing to worry about!”
“It wasn’t an asteroid that hit it,” said Rose Rita, her voice filled with understanding. “It was a ruby and a rivet and a gloppy mess.”
“It sure was,” agreed Jonathan. “All of it jet-propelled by Frizzy Wig’s dandy magic spell, designed to send everything up to the red comet that was supposed to be holding the Great Old Ones inside it. That was a stroke of genius, Florence, directing the magic at those things instead of at Moote and his monster.”
“Thank you, Brush Mush,” replied Mrs. Zimmermann with a smile. “Though I really didn’t know whether it would work or not! I’m glad that my aim was accurate.”
“Well, I’m glad the Mootes have departed this vale of tears for good and all,” said Jonathan. “Those rats had planned all this for years. Why, I found out that they were the two citizens who complained about the old bridge over Wilder Creek in the first place. They were the ones who persuaded the county to tear it down—because they knew the red comet was coming, and they wanted that creature to be free when it got here.”
“Was it really Jebediah Clabbernong?” asked Rose Rita.
Mrs. Zimmermann replied, “It was—in part. And the other part was a creature from some other dimension that rode to Earth on a meteorite. I think it started out as a shapeless blob of jelly. After Elihu poured old Jebediah’s ashes into the creek, the blob soaked them up. It was just human enough to want a soul and monstrous enough to draw the life out of anything it could touch.”
Uncle Jonathan stroked his red beard. “So good riddance to Mephistopheles and Ermine Moote, who set the dreadful thing free. Florence, I told you the first time I saw those two birds that they’d get themselves mixed up in some diabolical plot—”
“The Mootes!” Lewis yelled. “You were talking about the Mootes! My gosh, Uncle Jonathan, I overheard you say that. I thought you were talking about Rose Rita and me!”
Jonathan looked astonished. Then he threw back his head and laughed. “Lewis, you should know me better by now!” he said. “Mind you, I’m not really happy about your sneaking around and climbing down wells—but Lewis, you’re more than just my nephew. You’re my whole family. My whole world!”
“And everyone else’s whole world is safe now, right?” asked Rose Rita, sounding anxious.
Mrs. Zimmermann put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s safe forever from the mad Mootes and from old Jebediah Clabbernong’s restless spirit,” she assured her young friend. Lewis saw Rose Rita finally relax. Mrs. Zimmermann patted her shoulder and added, “And if anything else awful comes along, I’d say the four of us have some powerful magic to pit against it.”
“We’ve got friendship,” agreed Jonathan. “And people who look out for each other, and people who act for the best even when they’re shaking in their boots from terror. And we also have some halfway decent food, or my nose deceives me!”
They had a scrumptious dinner. Then, later, in the cool, clear air of early fall, they went into the backyard and spent an hour gazing through the telescope at the stars and planets. None of them looked the least bit frightening. They were all wonderful, bright, beautiful, and mysterious.
Lewis felt the worries and fears of the summer falling away from him as he lost himself in staring through the eyepiece. Around him, the universe wheeled on, orderly and regular, and a million brilliant and kindly lights eased the darkness and made the face of the night less lonely. After a long while, everyone went inside again, and that night Lewis slept deeply and peacefully, and his dreams were happy ones.
John Bellairs is the critically acclaimed, best-selling author of many Gothic novels, including The House With a Clock in Its Walls and other novels starring Lewis Barnavelt and Rose Rita Pottinger. John Bellairs died in 1991.
Brad Strickland completed several novels that John Bellairs had begun before his death and has continued the series that John Bellairs had created.
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DISCOVER THE TERRIFYING WORLD OF JOHN BELLAIRS!
Johnny Dixon Mysteries
The Bell, the Book, and the Spellbinder
The Chessmen of Doom
The Curse of the Blue Figurine
The Drum, the Doll, and the Zombie
The Eyes of the Killer Robot
The Hand of the Necromancer
The Mummy, the Will, and the Crypt
The Revenge of the Wizard’s Ghost
The Secret of the Underground Room
The Spell of the Sorcerer’s Skull
The Trolley to Yesterday
The Wrath of the Grinning Ghost
Lewis Barnavelt Mysteries
The Beast Under the Wizard’s Bridge
The Doom of the Haunted Opera
The Figure in the Shadows
The Ghost in the Mirror
The House With a Clock in Its Walls
The Letter, the Witch, and the Ring
The Specter from the Magician’s Museum
The Vengeance of the Witch-Finder
Anthony Monday Mysteries
The Dark Secret of Weatherend
The Lamp from the Warlock’s Tomb
The Mansion in the Mist
The Treasure of Alpheus Winterborn
The Beast Under the Wizard's Bridge Page 12