Eddie

by Scott Gustafson

  “Up to your old tricks, eh, Mac?” The raven shook his head. “Listen, Impy, why don’t you lay off and let the kid get some sleep? It’s a school night, you know.”

  “Why, you yolk-brained moron!” McCobber growled. “I wish you’d land that fat feathered carcass of yours on the windowsill across the way there. Then we’d see how smart you are. . . . Go on. Once you’re a midnight snack, we can all get some peace!”

  “What windowsill?” Raven asked, looking across the yard at the dark houses. The window was now dark.

  “That one over there, it . . . ,” McCobber began.

  “Forget it,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “It was probably nothing.”

  He capped his ink bottle, then stretched and yawned.

  “Raven is right, McCobber. It’s time for bed.”

  McCobber started to protest, but the boy cut him off—“Say good night, McCobber”—as he picked up the candle.

  “Ah, good night,” he snarled, “but I hope that monster finds you where you sleep and drags you flappin’ and screamin’ from your snug little nest—”

  “And a good night to you, too, McCobber.” The raven smiled. “Sleep well, Eddie.”

  “Good night, Raven.” Eddie had crossed the room, had lifted the trapdoor, and was heading down the narrow attic stairway.

  “By the way, Satan Junior,” Raven called in a loud whisper from the windowsill, “how about you keep a lid on the nightmare action so Eddie can get a little rest tonight.”

  McCobber started fuming.

  “Just say good night, McCobber,” Eddie said quietly as he descended through the floor.

  “Why, you . . .” were McCobber’s parting words, and the light from Eddie’s candle was lost behind the closing door.

  The raven chuckled softly, then cocked his head and listened. Leaves rustled outside the window. Pushing off, the raven caught the tail of a breeze that carried him into the night.

  Except for a few creaks on the attic stairs, Eddie made it down to his bedroom on the second floor without a sound. Within moments he had changed into his nightshirt, blown out the candle, and pulled the covers up to his chin.

  He was just losing awareness, and had begun that blissful journey into unconsciousness, when something was on the bed beside him. The presence took the shape of a snuffling monster that slowly poked its way across his stomach and chest. It brought its drooling fang-studded mouth to rest directly in front of Eddie’s, and the boy felt its hot breath huffing into his very own nostrils. Trying to cry out, fear strangled him, and his eyes shot open.

  “Cairo!” Eddie cried. A large black cat, significantly less terrifying than the monster his mind had imagined, nestled on the boy’s chest, purring in his face.

  “For cryin’ out loud,” McCobber gasped. “What’s the beast tryin’ to do, suck the very life out of us?”

  Kneading contentedly, the cat dug his needle-sharp claws into Eddie’s chest.

  “Not tonight, buddy,” Eddie said, lifting the sheet in a way that encouraged the cat to leave the bed. Cairo grudgingly jumped to the floor. The boy rolled over, pulling the covers even higher, and buried his sleepy head into the pillow.

  Cairo lazily sauntered to the open window, leapt to the sill, and began grooming himself in the moonlight. Exhausted, Eddie was soon stepping over the threshold into the heavenly realm of sleep—when the cat gave vent to a guttural yowl that surely must have had its origins in the bowels of hell.

  “Cairo!” he cried in a loud whisper. “Stop that!” The cat answered with another unearthly wail.

  “Yikes,” McCobber sputtered, half-asleep. “He sounds like my uncle Craven when he drowned in that bucket of holy water.” He shuddered, and grumpily nestled deeper into the folds of Eddie’s nightshirt.

  Cairo seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice and let loose with another bloodcurdling yowl.

  “Arrgh!” McCobber growled. “Can’t you do something?”

  Eddie grabbed his pillow and tossed it in the cat’s general direction. He had hoped that it would at least frighten the animal away. But with annoying calm Cairo watched as the pillow plopped unthreateningly beside him on the sill. There it balanced for a moment, before teetering through the half-open window and tumbling to the earth below.

  Silhouetted against the stars, the black cat stood, stretched, and with apparent ease leapt from the window ledge to a tree branch that grew within easy reach, just outside. There, amidst the branches and at his leisure, he resumed licking his paws.

  A moment later another hideous yowl tore the silence. Driven to more drastic measures, Eddie hurled one of his shoes. It struck the windowpane with a bang and fell noisily to the floor.

  “Cripes!” McCobber flinched. “I don’t know who’s worse—that creature or you, you clattering savage!”

  But it seemed to have worked, for the momentary hush lingered and then stretched into a restful silence. Eddie tried not to mourn the loss of his only pillow, and curled his arm under his head. He was just drifting off when a slightly more distant yowl assaulted him through the open window. It was followed quickly by another.

  Springing from his bed, he made a loud whispered “PSSST” sound in the cat’s general direction, then slammed down the window sash. The yowls were still audible when he returned to his bed, so he turned his back to the window and pulled the covers over his head.

  Against all odds Eddie entered dreamland. Clad in armor and out of breath, he stood looking into the dark forest. He could hear the distant caterwauling of a giant panther beast that he had just forced to retreat into the misty wood.

  Behind him, and against a dawning sky, rose a grassy knoll onto which he now walked. Removing his helmet, he was suddenly aware of how exhausted he truly was. His knees buckled, and he sank into the lush green grass. Softly the blades moved, and rising to meet him, they transformed themselves into a bed of flowers. Four graceful trees sprouted and grew at the corners. Beautiful sylphs and fairies arrived, carried on a summer breeze. They loosened his straps and gently removed his armor. The trees continued growing until their leafy branches arched in a living canopy overhead. Then a cloud of sprites, trailing a flowing banner of gossamer, bedecked the outstretched boughs.

  Within these curtains, and stretched upon this fairy bed, Sir Edgar took his ease. A wood nymph was offering him a peeled grape when a horrendous crowing split the air.

  Fairy folk rushed past him, and a gigantic rooster-like head thrust itself through the curtains and towered above him. It was a fabulous creature known as a cockatrice—half-rooster, half-serpent. But this monstrosity was not of the common barnyard variety. This was a death-dealing giant. In an instant its bird-quick eye caught sight of the pile of shining armor. Both Edgar and the monster lunged for the weapons, but the cockatrice was faster. Horrified, the brave knight watched the huge beak shatter and devour his enchanted sword, piece by piece.

  The cockatrice took one final gulp, and the sword disappeared down the monstrous gullet as the fiend reared back, preparing to strike. As it did so, the gossamer curtains caught on its neck and comb. Ripped from its fairy moorings, the delicate fabric cascaded to the ground. The cockatrice emitted another horrific crow, this time spewing jagged pieces of broken sword down onto Sir Edgar, who winced behind his upheld shield as the ricocheting shards bit into any unprotected flesh. The knight had no choice but to retreat.

  Suddenly from behind him the giant panther beast emerged, yowling, from the forest. Through white dagger-size fangs it snarled and hissed as it made its way into the clearing. Edgar was trapped between the two monsters. As he ducked behind his shield, the knight noticed that the curtain that had fallen to the cockatrice’s feet was now entangled in its ghastly spurs. Grabbing the loose end of the fabric, Edgar darted from between the advancing foes. Dragging the curtain with him, he circled behind the panther beast. With hopes of tripping the monsters, he pulled on the cloth with all his might. The monsters advanced undeterred, and Edgar prepared to meet his doom.
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  Then, once more, he was aware of something at his back. Turning, he saw yet another monstrous form looming up behind him. But for some mysterious reason, Edgar felt no fear at its presence. Instinctively he knew it was there to help. He tossed the free end of the drapery to this creature, who caught it in a viselike grip and pulled.

  The attacking monsters were drawn closer together, and with one more mighty yank, they were pulled face to snarling face. Suddenly the monsters’ anger was directed at each other and they began to fight. With amazing speed the friendly creature began to encircle and entwine them in the ever-tightening cloth. Soon the two monsters had become one in a writhing cocoon of screams and yowls.

  Slinging the hissing, squawking bundle over its shoulder, the friendly creature turned and gave Edgar a “tip of the hat” gesture.

  “Farewell, and thank you!” The knight waved as the creature nimbly scaled an ancient tower that had risen out of the mist. Atop this tower stood a gallows-like structure, from which the creature hung the monstrous bundle. With a final wave the mysterious being vanished, leaving the squalling twosome suspended betwixt heaven and earth.

  Edgar was still gazing upward when he became aware of shouting voices that soon grew louder than even those of the battling monsters. He assumed it must be the happy villagers, who, realizing the danger that was now past, were coming out of hiding to hail him as their hero.

  He was preparing to receive their boundless appreciation when he realized that the shouts were not of joy but of anger.

  Eddie was also aware that his bare feet were cold and wet with dew. He shivered and awakened, to find himself dressed in his nightshirt and standing in the neighbor’s poultry yard. Chickens of all sizes and descriptions ran back and forth in terror. Behind him the gate to the yard stood open as escaped chickens strutted or mingled together on the dewy lawn.

  The shouting became understandable. “What are you doing to my chickens, you scoundrel?” Eddie was trying to make sense of it all when he realized it was his neighbor Judge Washington who was shouting. The judge, also dressed in a nightshirt, was waving a cane as he stormed off his porch and across the lawn toward Eddie. He was also gesturing violently in the direction of his barn roof. “And what in the name of the devil have you done to my prized rooster?” he shouted.

  There, at the very peak of the barn roof, hanging from the weather vane was what appeared to be a white cloth sack, which was filled with something alive and something very angry that wanted to get out. Eddie then realized yet another thing: The one constant element that had not changed or stopped, the thing that was the same in his dream and in real time, was the sound of enraged shrieks and caterwauling, and those sounds were coming from that sack.

  “Oh, boy-o!” McCobber whispered warily. “It looks like we’ve done it this time!”

  A hand seized Eddie by the collar and yanked him nearly off his feet. “I don’t know what you were up to, boy,” the judge scolded, “but I’ll see justice done!”

  “Ruby!” he called to his servant as he half-dragged, half-carried Eddie out of the poultry yard and onto the lawn. “Ruby, you gather these chickens before they run off into the next county!”

  “Titus, you and the others fetch the ladder and bring down that wretched sack! And you . . .” The judge was again turning his attention and wrath on Eddie.

  At that moment John Allan’s bedroom window flew open and the man’s head and shoulders leaned into the dawn’s unfolding drama.

  “Judge! Eddie? . . . What the . . . ?”

  “ALLAN!” the judge shouted, holding Eddie out in front of him, as if the boy were Exhibit A. “This no-account orphan of yours has gone too far this time!”

  “Aye, now. Hold on, Judge.” Even Allan’s firm Scottish accent sounded a bit shaken. “I’ll be right down. Just hold on . . .” He disappeared back into the house.

  A familiar cawing was heard, and Eddie looked up to see the raven circling overhead.

  “Acch!” muttered McCobber. “I’ll never hear the end of this one!”

  Still clutching Eddie’s collar, the judge shouted orders to his servants and punctuated each command with a bone-jarring shake.

  “Now, Judge, what’s all this?” John Allan was tying shut his robe as he hastened across the backyard of his house.

  “Can’t you see?” the judge fumed. “Your boy here broke into my chicken yard, scattered all my hens, and stole my prize rooster!”

  “Edgar,” Allan asked, “is this true?”

  “I . . . I don’t know, sir,” Eddie tried to explain. “One minute I was asleep, and the next thing I know I’m down here in the hen yard—”

  “You see?” barked the judge. “He’s confessed!”

  Their attention was drawn to the servants trying to rescue the sack. A long ladder leaned against the barn as one servant stood at its base and another at its top, and a third man straddled the peak, making his way toward the weather vane.

  “He’s got it!” the man on the ladder shouted. “Scipio’s got the bag, sir!”

  There had been a momentary lull in the hissing and squabbling from the bag, but it renewed in full vigor as Scipio inched his way back across the wooden shingles. At last the unhappy package was delivered to the master of the house.

  “Well, open it up!” he commanded as they laid it at his feet.

  “Don’t just stand there. Let the poor thing out!”

  The knot in the sack proved too tight, so Scipio produced a penknife and cut the bag open. Instantly the battered rooster appeared in a flurry of his own swirling feathers. Dazed, angry, and panic-stricken, the bird ran into the yard.

  A second later another form shot out of the bag. A jet-black thing dashed toward the Allans’ house. Stopping about halfway, it looked back wild-eyed before tearing into the bushes.

  “By thunder!” cried Allan. “That’s Cairo, our cat!”

  “I tell you, Allan,” the judge began with renewed anger, “the boy is no good! Leave him to me and I’ll whip some sense into him!” Just as he raised his arm to strike Eddie, the raven swooped, flapping its wings momentarily in the man’s face.

  “By God!” the judge backed away as the raven flew to the henhouse roof, cawing. “And I’ll ring that devil’s neck!” the man cried.

  “Now, now . . .” Allan tried to calm his neighbor. “You needn’t worry,” he said, as he reached out and pulled Eddie toward him. “I’ll make him sorry he did this.”

  “See to it!” the judge threatened. “And mark my words, Allan, if that rooster is spoiled, I’ll see you in front of my own bench!”

  “I understand, Judge,” Allan reassured him. “We bear the full responsibility here. Just let me know what this insolence has set you back, and we will pay it.”

  “Excuse me, Master Allan.” It was the deep voice of Allan’s butler, Dap. He too joined the little crowd in the yard. “Master Allan, sir, I beg your pardon, but it just doesn’t seem likely that young Master Eddie could have climbed all the way up on that roof and then back down here without a ladder.”

  “Why,” the judge spat, “such insolence!”

  “He does have a point, your honor,” Allan agreed. “It took three of your men with a ladder a good fifteen minutes to fetch that sack down here.”

  “Well,” replied the judge, a bit flustered. “Well, he must have thrown it up there.”

  Dap silently looked at Eddie, then to the barn, across the roof, and up to the cupola on which the weather vane stood. It was obvious to everyone, even the judge, that his suggestion seemed very unlikely, if not impossible.

  At that moment the raven swooped down and landed on Eddie’s shoulder.

  “Why, that’s it,” the judge cried. “He must have had that infernal bird carry it up there!”

  “He’s strong, Judge,” Eddie spoke up, “but I don’t think even he could carry a bag with a fighting cat and rooster in it all the way to the top of that roof.”

  “Explain this, then!” the judge tossed the remnants o
f the tattered bag at the boy.

  It appeared to be a pillowcase. In script along its cuff the initials JA were elegantly embroidered. A sick wave washed over Eddie as he remembered the pillow he had thrown at Cairo the night before—the pillow that had fallen out the window.

  Allan took the case, running the embroidery through his own fingers. “Why, it’s one of ours!”

  “Well, Mr. Allan,” the judge replied with a smug tilt of his chin, “I believe I rest my case.”

  Up in his bedroom Eddie was changing into his school clothes. McCobber waited on the rim of the washbasin that sat on the dresser, and the raven spoke from the foot of the bed.

  “I leave you two alone for a few hours, and look what happens,” the raven said, exasperated.

  “Don’t blame me!” McCobber bleated. “I didn’t do anything!”

  “Oh, noooo, you never do anything,” the raven said. “You just egg him on, that’s all! Putting thoughts into his head—encouraging him!”

  “I just suggested we get rid of that filthy cat so we could get a little sleep, that’s all,” McCobber cried. “The next thing I know, someone’s run old Yowl and Cluck up the flagpole, and the place is in an uproar.”

  “Don’t play innocent with me, you little fiend,” the raven continued. “Why, you’d push your she-devil grandmother down a well just for the fun of hearing her splash.”

  “You leave my grandmother out of this!” McCobber fumed, hovering in wing-flapping anger. “Besides, you’re not off the hook yourself. For all I know you might just be in on it, you old carcass picker!” the imp cried, shaking his fist.

  “All right, that’s enough—both of you!” Eddie had been pacing while buttoning his shirt. He stopped and pounded his chest. “Are you trying to drive me mad? I’m the one who’s doomed to the lash. I’m the one in torment! And the worst part is, I think I may have done it!”