May peered around at all the faces surrounding her. Each face seemed to ask the same thing.
“I …,” Bertha said, sucking on her teeth nervously. “Do you wonder if we might not be ready for this, honey?”
May, shocked, felt her resolution falter. She studied the Free Spirits. Even the Colony of the Undead looked petrified. She peered down into the hole again, at the fearsome future that awaited them if they chose to face it.
Maybe they were right. Maybe they weren’t ready.
But the question was, if not now, when? Time had run out.
“We’re ready,” she said, nodding, hoping she looked determined, but trembling inside. If she couldn’t give them courage for what they had to face, no one would. It was their only chance. “We can do this. I know we can.”
Without letting herself hesitate a moment, she lowered the rope into the world below, tugged on it hard to test it one more time, and looked around the circle. “We’re going down there. The only question is, who’s going down first?”
There was a moment of silence.
And then someone moved forward.
Somber Kitty crept to the edge of the hole, his entire body trembling. “Meow,” he said, his voice disappearing into the blackness below.
And then he did the last thing any of them expected. He turned and ran.
May shot up. “Kitty!”
In a flash, Legume had leaped up after him, and both cats raced into the distance, fading into the fog.
The last thing May saw of her cat was his tail waving behind him, and then he was gone.
Chapter Twenty-nine
A Warrior Queen
On the rocky mountaintop above Bo Cleevil’s castle, the spirits painted each other with glowing war paint, so they all looked like skeletons, even the ones who already were skeletons. It had been Pumpkin’s idea. He had always had a flair for the dramatic.
They stayed up the whole night, the knaves gathered in a rowdy circle passing around a bottle of That’s the Spirit spirits and swapping tales of their greatest heists, the Risk Fallsers drumming on bongos and singing hula songs, the luminous boys playing hide-and-seek among the crevices, giggling and cheating. May sat off a ways, on a rock in a quiet spot, overlooking the castle below.
Sitting in the dark, she could hear Lucius’s laughter and Fabbio’s booming voice. She wondered where Somber Kitty was right now, and if he was okay. She stared at the castle in the distance below, at the glowing red light of Bo Cleevil’s room way up top, and wondered about him. What was he doing now?
May imagined that the spot at the top of his castle had to be the loneliest spot in the world. Worse than any kind of lonely she had ever been. Though right now, that was hard to imagine.
“Hey.” May started. Pumpkin’s ghastly big head poked around a rock in front of her. “Ghouly Gum for your thoughts.”
Pumpkin held out a pack of Ghouly Gum, but May waved it off. “No thanks.”
He floated over and sat down next to her, plucking at the pebbles on the rocky ground, then looked at her. Feeling Pumpkin’s eyes on her, May’s lips started to tremble, and, seeing that, his did too. She looked away, up at the dear yellow flop on top of his head.
Then a loud, gabbling sound drew their attention downward. A horde of dark blotches was moving out of the castle gates, spreading upward into the mountains to the south. It looked like thousands of dark spirits, scattering to the four winds.
May’s insides began to flutter with fear.
“They must be leaving for the Cleevilvilles,” Pumpkin said, expressing what she was already afraid of. Afraid, but not surprised. She thought of Earth, of all the people she knew, Claire and the lady who ran the thrift shop in Droop View and Sister Christopher and of course, most especially, her mom. They were depending on her now too. It was almost enough to make May crumple up like a piece of paper. But she didn’t crumple. She stood.
“You look like someone I saw once,” Pumpkin said. May looked down at herself, with her death shroud, her glowing bathing suit, and her painted skin. She imagined she was the very picture of the girl they had seen in the stained glass at the Eternal Edifice. She imagined she was the very picture of the girl she had seen in the caves underneath the Petrified Pass. She imagined she looked like a warrior queen.
As the group on the mountain quickly readied themselves to depart, there was a final burst of emotion. Peg Leg Petey admitted to Guillotined Gwenneth that he had always had a crush on her, at which admission she scowled and tried to shoot him with seawater, which had Petey ducking and hiding for his life. Fabbio confessed that he sometimes cheated at Uno, which everyone already knew.
Lawless Lexy, claiming she had been meaning to give Bertha something for a long time, handed her a long, thin box wrapped in fuschia. Bertha unwrapped it eagerly, then stared at the gift, bewildered to find a solitary white toothbrush. Lexy wiped a tear from her eye. “Use it,” she said. “Please.”
Several Egyptians burst into tears. Zero planted a kiss on Beatrice’s cheek, making her turn bright red. Fabbio hugged a skeleton to his breast, exclaiming, “I tell you what I tella my men in the Alps. We’re gonna be okay.” The skeleton did not look very reassured, considering that Fabbio’s men had died of frostbite.
Lucius drifted up to May and stared at her, then at the ground, kicking his feet. He looked at her for a long while, and May’s ears went itchy, wondering what he was getting at. But finally he only thrust out his hand and pinched her arm. “Ow!” she squeaked, grabbing the spot where he’d pinched and watching him float away. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Bertha blowing into her cupped hand and smelling it, still looking bewildered.
There was a final rush of hugs, and the last spirit May found herself standing face-to-face with was Pumpkin.
They looked at each other for a long moment. Pumpkin smiled a crooked smile.
“If we don’t come through …,” Pumpkin began.
“If we don’t come through,” May said, “thank you for being my best friend, Pumpkin.”
Pumpkin’s lips began to tremble, and he couldn’t say anything at all. May folded herself into his long, gangly arms and held him tight. “I love you very much,” she whispered.
“I love you, too,” Pumpkin said, pulling away and wiping a tear from his eye. It was funny. Looking at him now, May couldn’t imagine ever having been scared of him at all.
They pulled on their capes and picked up the chains they had brought, following a plan they had reviewed one last time the night before. They chained themselves to one another in long rows, just like the spirits below. They readied their two mummy captives, repeating their threats to unravel them if they didn’t cooperate. And then they began the trek down the mountain.
They were spotted long before they reached the valley floor. One vampire began to circle above them, and the others followed, like vultures.
The gates loomed up ahead, etched with screaming skulls that let out howls when they saw the spirits approaching.
May reached back behind her and held Pumpkin’s long, trembling fingers under her cloak.
And then, with a great creak, the gates began to open.
That night, on Earth, Claire Arneson had a sleepover, complete with cheerful chatter, popcorn, and scary movies. Bridey McDrummy closed the Droop Mountain Shop & Spend five minutes early to sneak off with her boyfriend. Weather forecasters in twelve states predicted cloudy skies. Presidents and prime ministers in the Western Hemisphere lay down their heads but couldn’t sleep, worried over politics. People in Hong Kong hit the snooze buttons on their alarm clocks, reluctant to go to work. In Briery Swamp, West Virginia, Ellen Bird spent another night lying awake with the lights on, lost in grief. The ground was broken for a new mall in White Sulphur Springs, five towns away, by men working the night shift.
The people on Earth, full of their own worries, joys, cares, and hopes, had no idea what was on its way. They went about their business, laughing, crying, talking, sleeping, dancing, wo
rrying—living. Only the crickets and the trees sensed the danger in the air—flowing with the night breeze, whispering down from the stars—and feared.
Part Three
Scared of the Dark
Chapter Thirty
In the Heart of All Bad Things
A trail of captives wended its way through the gates of Bo Cleevil’s fortress, two mummies leading them. Like so many, their eyes were downcast, their spirits dim.
The gates closed behind May and the others with a sickening thud. The scene that opened up before them was even worse than what it had seemed from above. The pathways winding up the dark hills to the foot of the great castle were paved with bones, each engraved with intricate patterns. Arching on either side of the narrow, bony streets were dark, dead trees, all twisted into the shape of a spirit in a long trench coat and a wide brimmed hat. Cleevil, May thought. The dark spirits, still numbering in the thousands even after the departure of so many, leaped and danced across the area, prodding prisoners with their spears, growling and snarling, their gaping mouths dripping with drool. And the whole scene was lit by flashes of lightning in the dusky sky. May could feel her chains rattling as all the Free Spirits—connected in a row like dominoes—began to quiver with dread.
May studied the chains around her wrist and her waist. They were connected so that they only looked locked, and could fall off easily. She hoped the shivers passed.
Everywhere there were spirits in chains, from every walk of life—tribesmen with bones through their noses, gaggles of sad, lost-looking schoolchildren, ancient Egyptians, Babylonians, Vikings, geishas, monks, showgirls, cabaret dancers, one corpulent character, incredibly large, his head adorned with a crown of thistles …
“Ghost of Christmas Past,” Pumpkin whispered, still trembling. Then he added, slightly lower, “I wonder if he brought any presents with him.”
“Pumpkin, shhh!” May knew that when Pumpkin got nervous, he sometimes tended to babble.
“I should have stayed in the Pit of Despair. I had a great life there. A pool, a lorelei, a … Hey, is that Marilyn Monroe?”
“Pumpkin!” Fabbio, next in line behind him, hissed.
All around, spirits cried and sighed. Those who weren’t crying had their eyes hopelessy and sadly downcast. Without exception, every one of them was part of an assembly line, putting bits of plastic together.
“What are they doing?” May whispered to Bea, who was in front of her.
“Bo Cleevil’s fortress is the universe’s largest exporter of tchotchkes,” Bea whispered back barely audibly. Tchotchkes, May remembered her mom explaining once, were cheap things people bought that they didn’t really need. They were the exact opposite of handcrafted North Farm blankets, and fine silver arrows, and everlasting cookies. They had no beauty or purpose. People only bought them to have them. May remembered something John the Jibber had once said, about why he hoarded treasure. To have it.
When someone fell behind, or stepped out of line, they were picked up and carried into the castle.
May looked up toward the castle, then peered upward to where it disappeared into the sky, thinking of Bo Cleevil, way up top. “I’ve got to make my way in there,” she whispered. Their plan was to make it close to the castle, and for May to somehow slip out of the line unnoticed, and sneak inside, while the others got ready for … whatever came next. From the fifty or so ghouls guarding the gaping, rotten doorway—hundreds of balloons announcing BO CLEEVIL IS NUMBER ONE! tied to the door handles—she could see they should have come up with a different plan.
May peered around, thinking. But suddenly, she saw something that drove all thoughts from her head. It was a familiar figure among the sea of faces. By the way she felt Pumpkin jerk behind her, she knew he had seen it too.
Somewhere in the middle of one of the assembly lines, his head downcast and his antennae drooping, stood Arista the beekeeper. Only he was not the Arista May knew. He was slouched, and broken, and dim.
“A—a—,” Pumpkin sputtered behind her.
“Pumpkin, shhhh.” She could tell Pumpkin was using every last bit of strength he had not to squeal.
And then she felt the tug, stronger this time. She turned just in time to see Pumpkin’s eyes cross and his hands flutter up in the air. And then he fainted dead away, falling right on top of Fabbio.
One after the next, and in quick succession, the Free Spirits went down like dominoes, their chains flying off their wrists, their robes thrown into disarray. Within seconds they all lay splayed on the ground on top of one another, water balloons and slingshots and arrows tumbling onto the dark ground.
May, pulled down with them, felt her robe fly open. Her glorious black bathing suit—full of supernovas and galaxies—was revealed, her sparkling arrows gleamed. All around, the dark spirits stopped what they were doing. Prisoners everywhere looked up from their tasks.
In the moments that followed, May knew she had to think fast. She looked back toward the castle. There was only a moment to decide. She would run for it.
The world behind Bo Cleevil’s gates burst into chaos. Vikings leaped from their worktables and pulled ghouls’ hair. Vampires chased Vegas showgirls, who’d decided to make a run for it while still chained together. The knaves, always resourceful, jumped up from the ground and chased a group of goblins with their water guns. A group of Risk Fallsers sprang to action, running to and fro, unraveling a gang of mummies.
Thousands of spirits rose up from their chains and began to turn on their captors. And their captors, fierce and fearless, fought back.
In the din, May unclasped herself from Pumpkin. She leaned over him and took his face in her hands. He was just coming to, blinking at her dazedly. “Hide!” she said, knowing he could never handle a battle such as the one they were beginning to fight. And then she turned and ran toward the castle.
She unleashed her arrows as she ran, each shot true, turning dark spirits to stone everywhere they appeared and pulling her arrows from them as quickly as she’d shot them. Finally she verged on the dark, gaping door of the castle, deserted now that its guards were deep in the fray. She looked over her shoulder to check once on her friends. Fabbio was running from two goblins throwing their shoes at him. Lucius was piggybacking a zombie. Beatrice was flinging screaming skulls from behind a tombstone. Pumpkin, having taken May’s advice, was nowhere to be seen. May breathed a sigh of relief.
And then she felt the coldness of the castle breathe onto her back, and the relief faded. She took a last shot, hitting one of Fabbio’s pursuers. And then she took two steps backward and disappeared inside.
Chapter Thirty-one
In the Castle
The great doors creaked behind her and May turned just as they slammed shut. She swallowed, then looked around, lowering her arrows. She was in a great hall, smelling of old wet wood and lined with giant root threads.
She could still hear the battle raging behind her, muffled and seeming far away. Somewhere farther within the castle she could hear a mournful howling. The cool, musty air sat on her arms. She felt that somehow Bo Cleevil knew she was here. There was an air of waiting all around her. As if the castle were a breathing, living thing, watching.
At the end of the hall was a great stone archway. May approached it slowly, looking this way and that, wary of what might emerge from the shadows. But she passed safely to the end of the hall, where, under the archway, a flight of stairs stretched downward into darkness. May backed up and peered around. There was no other doorway, no other hall, no stairs leading up. She put her hand against the wall and slowly drifted downward.
Click-click-click, tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap.
May kept close against the wall as she found herself moving closer and closer to the sounds coming from below. She reached a soggy wooden landing and carefully peered around the corner, into a great dripping room, where hundreds of shadows moved in the dimness. She could just make out …
Those couldn’t be what she thought they were….
But yes, it was all too real. Bo Cleevil’s basement was filled with monkeys.
Monkeys tapping away on typewriters.
May emerged a little farther into the room, puzzled. The monkeys kept their eyes on their typewriters, too busy to acknowledge her, though occasionally one of them scratched under his armpits, unable to help being a monkey after all. She drifted up to one of their desks and lifted up a huge pile of papers.
My One Thousand and First Bestseller, by Bo Cleevil
May shook her head in disbelief, laying the papers back down. She gave the monkey nearest her a gentle pat on the head, and then she continued on, toward another doorway at the end of the room. Holding her arrows aloft, she drifted through it and into a room full of wooden staircases, stretching in every direction—up, down, sideways, left, right.
May, thinking of the battle raging outside, knew she had no time to waste. She zipped up the staircase nearest to her, but it ended in a ceiling two stories above. She raced back down and tried another. This one ended in a window leading to the outside.
May tried ten staircases before she found one that led to a long wooden hallway, ten flights up. The soggy floor was dotted with large rotted holes. She wove her way around them, as quickly as she could, then stopped short.
She could hear voices, somewhere far below, singing. She strained her ears to hear what they were saying.
“One billion three hundred thousand seventy-two bottles of Slurpy Soda on the wall, one billion three hundred thousand seventy-two bottles of Slurpy Soda …”
May dropped down onto her belly, splaying her arms out to hold her bow and arrow, and peered into the hole, her black hair falling down on either side of her face like curtains.
She could just make out, maybe five stories down, the tops of a group of ghostly heads.
“Hey, who’s up there?” one of them shouted. May Bird gasped, ducked back, and then crept forward again. Maybe it was someone who was on her side. “May Bird,” she called tremulously. “Who’s down there?”
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