Skull of the Skeleton

by Tommy Donbavand

  The Truth

  Luke was busy scraping soot from the Headless Horseman’s head as Cleo and Eefa carried Femur’s skeleton out of the emporium and laid it on the ground in the square. “I hope the magic still works after a relic has been barbecued,” he laughed.

  Cleo retrieved Femur’s skull from near the Horseman’s body. “Are you OK?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Femur assured her. “I’m just happy no one else was hurt.”

  “You’re an inspiration,” sighed Cleo. “Not many people would have given the demon a chance to live in Scream Street after all that destruction.”

  Luke stopped scraping and looked at Cleo thoughtfully. “You’re right,” he said. Setting the Horseman’s head aside, he pulled Skipstone’s Tales of Scream Street from his pocket and addressed the author. “Eddie’s skull isn’t the one I need, is it.”

  Samuel Skipstone opened his eyes. “I never said it was.”

  “I know,” said Luke. “You said I was searching for a skull unlike the rest. That had nothing to do with horns and fangs, did it? It was to do with its owner.”

  “I don’t get it,” admitted Cleo.

  “Think about it,” said Luke. “Femur was strong enough to control the Horseman’s body, yet Eddie was powerless when connected to the demon.”

  “So?” said Resus. “You mean she’s some kind of skeleton superhero?”

  “Even better,” answered Luke, turning to Femur just as Eefa reattached her skull to her spine. “You’re one of the founding fathers, aren’t you. Or do I call you a founding mother?”

  “The choice is yours,” smiled Femur. “But now you’ll be needing to take my skull to complete this section of your quest.”

  Luke glanced down at the Headless Horseman’s head on the ground beside him. “Not just yet…”

  Femur raised her wine glass and stared deep into Eddie’s blue eyes. The Horseman, his head still blackened from the fire and one horn glued back on somewhat wonkily, smiled at her. “To us,” he said, clinking his own glass against hers.

  The pair were sitting at a table set up in the centre of the square, enjoying a candlelit meal while the residents of Scream Street set about repairing their homes.

  A few jealous females flashed envious scowls at Femur, but the lovestruck skeleton didn’t notice. “I’m glad your eyes are back to their original colour,” she said. “Green just didn’t suit you.”

  The Horseman ran his hand over his cracked and blistered skull. “It can’t be pleasant for you, looking at this mess,” he said.

  “It makes no difference to me,” said Femur truthfully.

  “Even now you know I made up the whole story about the orphanages?” asked Eddie. “Even now you know I’m not a hero?”

  “I spent long enough connected to your body to know that you’re a hero inside,” she replied. “Plus, you’ve had a real battle now — here in Scream Street.”

  “It’s not the same, though, is it?” said Eddie. “I let all my fans down by lying to them. They’ll never look at me in the same way again.”

  “They will if we make sure they never hear the truth,” grinned Femur.

  Across the table, the Headless Horseman took her hand in his. “Luke was right,” he said. “You really are special!”

  Cleo watched the couple from her position on the pavement outside Everwell’s Emporium. “This has been the most romantic Halloween in years,” she cooed.

  “I hope you feel the same way after I’ve thrown up everywhere,” grumbled Resus. “This is way off the top of the mushometer!”

  “Will you watch what you’re doing?” snarled a gravelly voice beside him. “You’ve just glued my ear to my forehead!”

  Resus paused in his task and studied his handiwork. “There’s still time for me to turn you into that fountain for Cleo’s garden, you know,” he said to the ungrateful gargoyle. “Remember that I’m rebuilding you out of the goodness of my heart!”

  The vampire had already reattached Doug’s arm with the strong glue, and the zombie was now rotating his shoulder to test the result. “Better than ever, little dude!” he beamed.

  The bat screeched as the door to Everwell’s Emporium opened and Luke emerged carrying a bottle filled with yellow liquid. “Eefa charged this to Sir Otto’s account,” he said, handing it to Doug. “Think of it as his way of saying sorry for chopping your arm off.”

  Doug read the label on the bottle. “Freshly squeezed bile!” he exclaimed. “Mucho gratitude, dude. Turf and Berry are cooking a nice, juicy spleen for supper and this will complement it nicely!” And with that the zombie lurched away happily, glad to be back in one piece.

  “A spleen for supper?” groaned Cleo. “I think I might throw up too.”

  “Well, you can give me a hand with this before you do,” said Luke. The disassembled parts of Ottostein lay beside him on the ground and needed to go back into their original Oddbods crates. Each box now bore a sticker that read “Return to sender”.

  “That’s it!” snapped Rocky, glaring at Resus. “I’m sure you just glued all my fingers onto one hand on purpose. I went out of my way to help you stop that demon, and I deserve to be treated with a little mmph-mpph-mm-mmm!”

  “Oh dear,” exclaimed Resus in mock surprise. “I appear to have accidentally glued Rocky’s mouth closed…”

  Back at the table, the Horseman stood. “I’m afraid I must go,” he said to Femur. “I’m due at a book-signing in Atlantis tonight, and I can’t let my fans down!”

  “Thank you,” the skeleton sighed. “This has been wonderful.”

  “No,” said Eddie. “You’ve been wonderful.”

  Femur closed her eyes as the Headless Horseman bent to kiss her, but nothing happened. Opening them again, she saw to her horror that Eddie’s head was missing once again. A foul stench of cigars filled the air. The skeleton gasped.

  “The rest of you might be travelling by Hex Hatch,” Sir Otto growled to the Horseman, “but I’ll be keeping the head for myself!”

  Luke paused from dropping the damaged centaur’s leg into a crate and ran over. “We had a deal,” he insisted. “You said you’d help us stop the demon and get the head back!”

  “Which is exactly what I did,” grinned Sir Otto. “But I like to think I’ve moved on from there.” He held the Horseman’s head up to the light to examine it. “Now I have my first relic, and it won’t be long until—”

  A black-gloved hand grabbed his ear tightly.

  “Dixon!” barked Queenie Sneer. “Take that head from your pathetic uncle and give it back to its rightful owner. Even I’ve worked out that it’s not one of the precious relics.”

  “Right away, Mummy,” squeaked Dixon, sticking his tongue out at the crestfallen Sir Otto as he snatched the skull from his hands and passed it back to the grateful Horseman.

  “If there’s one thing I enjoy more than annoying the freaks,” snarled Queenie, “it’s bullying my baby brother!” She gave Sir Otto’s ear a painful twist before finally releasing it. “What a dump,” she added, gazing around Scream Street.

  “Well,” said the Horseman, “if you’re looking to get out of here, I’ve got an opening for a new agent. Rocky’s in no shape to come with me, and someone with your bullying abilities could become really quite successful at it.”

  Queenie’s eyes flickered with interest. “There’s bullying involved?”

  The Headless Horseman nodded. “Plus a fair amount of intimidation, threat-making and plain, old-fashioned name-calling. G.H.O.U.L. should be opening a Hex Hatch for me at any moment.”

  “Where do I sign?” smiled Queenie, cracking her knuckles.

  The Horseman raised his fingers to his mouth and whistled. His jet-black stallion galloped over and stopped at his side. As Eddie swung himself into the saddle, pulling Queenie up behind him, the air in the centre of the square began to shimmer.

  “This is to say thank you!” he called, tossing something to Cleo. Then, with a wink at Femur, he rode the horse straight tow
ards the Hex Hatch. Leaping high, the Headless Horseman and Queenie Sneer disappeared from sight.

  “What did he give you?” asked Luke.

  Cleo opened her hand to reveal a tiny perfume bottle with a miniature skull on top. “Decapitation Pour L’Homme!” she giggled, pinching her nose.

  “Ooh,” said Dixon, nudging his uncle. “I’ve heard that’s really nice. Maybe you should get some too, Otto.”

  “Otto?” roared the landlord. “OTTO?” He turned on Dixon, his face purple. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten your behaviour over the past twenty-four hours…”

  Dixon began to back away towards Sneer Hall as the furious landlord gave chase. “I’m sorry, Sir Uncle Otto,” he squeaked.

  “At least some things are getting back to normal round here,” grinned Resus.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be OK in there?” asked Luke as he lowered Femur’s skull into the golden casket that Cleo had given him to store the relics in. Already in there were a vampire’s fang, a vial of witch’s blood, the heart of an ancient mummy and a zombie’s tongue.

  “I’ll be fine,” replied Femur. “And I’ll have Samuel for company.”

  “Indeed you shall,” agreed the face on the cover of Skipstone’s Tales of Scream Street. “We go back a long way, Femur and I.” The author looked up at Luke. “How are your parents?”

  “Recovering,” replied Luke. “We’ll be staying with Resus’s mum and dad while we fix the house up.” He gestured towards the remains of the staircase outside his bedroom. “I never thought I’d be sorry to see this place get damaged.”

  “This is your home,” said Skipstone. “At least for the moment. You are but one relic away from possessing the powers of the founding fathers, Luke Watson. Then you will have the ability to return to your previous life.”

  Luke sighed heavily. “I know.”

  “Is there a problem?” enquired the author. “I thought you were keen to leave Scream Street behind and go back to your own world?”

  Luke gazed out of his broken bedroom window at the twisted, misshapen houses across the street. “So did I, Mr Skipstone,” he said. “So did I.”

  Tommy Donbavand was born and brought up in Liverpool and has worked at numerous careers that have included clown, actor, theatre producer, children’s entertainer, drama teacher, storyteller and writer. His non-fiction books for children and their parents, Boredom Busters and Quick Fixes for Bored Kids, have helped him to become a regular guest on radio stations around the UK and he also writes for a number of magazines, including Creative Steps and Scholastic’s Junior Education.

  Tommy sees his new comedy-horror series as what might have resulted had Stephen King been the author of Scooby Doo. “Writing Scream Street is fangtastic fun,” he says. “I just have to be careful not to scare myself too much!” Tommy lives in Lancashire with his family and sees sleep as a waste of good writing time.

  You can find out more about Tommy and his books at his website: www.tommydonbavand.com

  Other Scream Street titles:

  Fang of the Vampire

  Blood of the Witch

  Heart of the Mummy

  Flesh of the Zombie

  Claw of the Werewolf

  Coming soon:

  Invasion of the Normals

  For Penny, my top London agent,

  without whom none of this would have happened

  With special thanks to everyone at Walker Books

  - especially Emma, Gill and Patrick -

  who make writing Scream Street a joy

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  First published 2009 by Walker Books Ltd

  87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  Text © 2009 Tommy Donbavand

  Illustrations © 2009 Cartoon Saloon Ltd

  The right of Tommy Donbavand to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  This book has been typeset in Bembo Educational

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data: a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978-1-4063-1428-1

  www.walker.co.uk