Spirits and Spells

by Bruce Coville

  Derek spotted a windowless door against the left wall. Taking Jenny by the hand, he crossed the room and opened it.

  “This is it, all right.”

  Jenny shuddered. The spiderwebs arching over the steps were so thick and numerous they made the passage look more like a tunnel than a stairway. Derek shone his flashlight down it, but they couldn’t see the cellar floor.

  “There’s a broomstick back there,” he said. “Grab it for me, will you?”

  Jenny moved away from him reluctantly. She found the broomstick lying on a counter beneath a shuttered window and took it to Derek.

  “I’ll clear a path for us,” he said. Moving slowly, he extended the broomstick before him and swung it in wide circles, catching the cobwebs and winding them around the wood like cotton candy around a paper cone.

  “No footprints on the steps,” he noted “Of course, there could be another entrance. Or Travis could have been sneaky enough to sprinkle some dust and dirt across the steps behind him.”

  Jenny reached out and put a hand on Derek’s shoulder. A step creaked beneath his sneakers, and she tightened her grip. Derek laughed.

  The stairway was longer than she would have expected, and the air grew cooler as they continued down.

  “We’re almost there,” he said. “I can see bottom.”

  The cellar itself was almost as heavily cobwebbed as the stairway had been. They stood at the base of the stairs and panned their flashlights over dirt floors, thick wooden beams, and millions of clinging webs. The dank air smelled of mold and decay.

  “Derek …”

  “It’s all right, Jen. Let’s see. Usually at this point in a game we would ask some questions of the leader. He’d probably tell us we should beware of some supernatural menace. But I’m not about to go all the way up to the library just to ask Travis a question. Be careful, though. Like I said, he may have planted something.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t imagine him getting anyone to wait down here to scare us. The place is just too gross. Maybe he set up some water balloons. If we break one and come back all wet, he can say that we stumbled into a trap so we’re dead, or under a spell, or something like that.”

  “That’s pretty clever,” said Jenny. “But I don’t like it.”

  “Then be careful. Now, shall we split up, or stick together?”

  “You have to ask?”

  “Not really. Stay with me—and keep your eyes open.”

  Derek moved forward, still using the broomstick to clear the way ahead of him. He walked slowly, training the beam of his flashlight from side to side, looking for any sign of where Travis might have hidden the sword.

  “Derek.”

  “What?”

  “I hear something.”

  “Jenny, don’t get—”

  “Just listen, will you?”

  Derek heaved an exaggerated sigh. But he stopped to listen.

  After a moment his eyes widened. “You’re right!” he whispered.

  Jenny couldn’t tell if it was fear or excitement that made his voice husky.

  “It’s someone breathing,” he went on.

  “It’s awfully loud breathing,” she whispered back.

  “Then it’s meant to scare us. Brace yourself. He may have someone down here wearing a mask or something. Try not to scream too loud.”

  Jenny slapped his shoulder. “Try not to wet your pants, smart mouth.”

  Despite her brave words, she had begun to tremble. Oblivious to her fear, Derek drew her forward, toward the sound. It was slow and rasping, as if the breather were having real difficulty.

  “I don’t understand why we haven’t spotted footprints,” whispered Derek. “He must have come in by some other door.”

  They moved very slowly.

  The breathing got louder.

  Derek wrinkled his nose. “Something stinks.”

  Jenny shifted the beam of her flashlight, found the source of the breathing, and began to scream.

  5

  THE STAVE

  Matt McMasters picked his way slowly through a room he assumed had once been the Gulbrandsen family’s den. He was looking halfheartedly for the mysterious stave and wishing wholeheartedly that he and Denise had been kept together, like Derek and Jenny.

  It wasn’t that he was frightened by being alone. He simply preferred being with Denise.

  Wondering if he was kidding himself, he flicked off his flashlight and stood in the darkness, just to be sure.

  No, he wasn’t afraid. With a sigh, he admitted to himself just how important Denise was to him.

  “Rats,” he said, flicking his light back on. “Just what I always wanted—a girlfriend who makes me look like one of the seven dwarves.”

  His eye was drawn to something strange in the corner. It took him a moment to realize it was one of those umbrella stands made from an elephant’s foot.

  “Good thing Tansy can’t see that,” he muttered, thinking of the animal-rights pamphlets she used to give him to read.

  Moving closer, he realized that the relic contained a selection of canes and walking sticks. “I bet that’s it!” he crowed. “One of those has to be the stave!”

  He crossed the room eagerly. If he could accomplish his task quickly enough, he could scoot up to the third floor and help Denise with her quest.

  The elephant’s foot held nearly a dozen sticks, some a mere three feet long, others nearly as tall as Matt himself.

  But which was the stave he was supposed to bring back?

  He hesitated for a moment, then turned the container over. The sticks clattered out, spilling across the floor. One of them, a polished piece of wood about five feet long, had a white tag fluttering from the end of it.

  Matt snatched it up and began to grin. The tag was tied to it with coarse thread. Printed neatly on the tag in red ink were the words “Congratulations. You have completed the first part of your quest. Return to the Master Mage.”

  Matt started for the door, then turned back. Feeling like an idiot, he set the elephant’s foot upright again, then replaced the sticks. “Mom would be so proud,” he muttered.

  When he reached the second floor, Matt hesitated. If he went back to the library, he would probably be the first back, which might earn him bonus points.

  On the other hand, he really wanted to go help Denise.

  “Sorry, Travis,” he said, turning to head for the stairs that led to the third floor. The dark hall was eerie, and Matt found himself walking very quietly.

  He had nearly reached the stairwell when he cried out in surprise and dropped the stick.

  It was hot!

  “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

  He bent and cautiously touched the stick. It was very hot indeed. In fact, it seemed to be glowing faintly.

  He sat back on his haunches and stared at the piece of wood. What had Travis done to make it heat up like that? Well, whatever the gimmick was, the stick was too hot to touch. He would have to find something to wrap it in. He stood and cried out in shock a second time.

  Two men were standing on the stairs. They were dressed in dark breeches and leather armor, and each carried a long sword. They were looking straight at Matt. One of them opened his mouth and said something.

  Matt blinked in surprise. He couldn’t hear a thing.

  The man moved his mouth again. He seemed to be getting angry.

  The second man, small but very muscular, began to walk down the steps. He was gesturing toward the stave, which was lying where Matt had dropped it.

  Wathek! cried a voice in his mind. Don’t let them have it!

  Without thinking, Matt snatched up the stave, then cried out in pain. It was still hot.

  Suddenly the heat didn’t matter. The man who had been heading for the stave lunged at Matt with his sword. Matt bellowed and held up the stave to protect himself. The sword struck it with a jolt that sent a shock through Matt’s whole body.

  “Denise!” he
cried. “Denise, help!”

  The stave grew hotter in his hands.

  Wathek! whispered the voice in his mind. Resist them!

  Where was the voice coming from? He had no time to think about it now. The other man was on the attack as well, and it was all Matt could do to fend off their swords with the stave, which was glowing brighter by the second.

  6

  IN THE ATTIC

  Tansy stood at the top of the stairs and took a deep breath. Her mind had begun to conjure up visions of all kinds of horrors waiting on the other side.

  She shook herself. This was ridiculous. Despite what Lydia had said, Spirits and Spells was only a game.

  Then why was she so frightened?

  “Well, it only makes sense,” she said out loud, to bolster her courage. “Big old house, stormy October night …”

  As if to reinforce her words, a crack of thunder shook the walls. Tansy gasped. It was so loud! Taking another deep breath, she put her hand on the latch.

  “It’s now or never,” she said grimly, and swung the door open.

  The attic was enormous. It covered the entire house, so it had as much, floor space as all the rooms on the top floor put together. Tansy stepped in, closing the door behind her. She could hear rain pounding on the roof. It seemed oddly close.

  She played her flashlight around the attic. Its beam was too weak to reach the far end, but she could see that the place was a jumble of boxes, crates, and trunks. Furniture was piled here and there. On the wall to her right were two bookcases crammed with moldering volumes, the overflow stacked all around. A book lover at heart, Tansy could never pass a pile of books without at least a quick glance at the titles. She went over to look.

  A brief scan of the first shelf convinced her there was nothing here that would appeal to her tastes. Magic and Ritual in New Guinea, read the spine on the first volume; The Forbidden Spells, the second; Witchcraft in the Middle Ages, the third.

  Tansy grimaced. “Give me a good romance any day,” she muttered.

  What was that?

  She would have sworn she had heard a faint sound, almost like a whisper.

  She spun about and swung her flashlight slowly from right to left. “Who’s there?” she asked in a shaky voice.

  No answer, save the rain pounding on the roof.

  She held her breath for a moment, then let it out slowly. Her imagination had been playing tricks on her.

  Remembering what had brought her here in the first place, she took out her notepad and reread the clue. Nothing about it seemed to indicate any specific place in the attic. But Travis had said he had tried to leave some extra clues. She figured she might as well take a moment to look before going back to ask the Master Mage for more information.

  She turned back toward the center of the attic. A clear path led from the door where she had entered all the way to the far side of the house. “Sort of like the Red Sea when Moses and the gang went through,” she said, surveying the aisle that stretched between piles of relics and discards. The clutter formed two walls that looked likely to collapse and engulf her at any time.

  Tansy walked slowly along the path, swinging her flashlight to the right and left. A battered armchair. An old oil painting of a herd of cows, its ornate frame chipped in several places. A dressmaker’s dummy, its semihuman form eerie in the gloom.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said. “How could anybody expect to find a ring in all this mess?”

  Was that a noise?

  She stopped and listened intently for a moment, then shook her head. She hadn’t really heard anything. But she had the uncanny sensation that someone else was in the attic with her—someone waiting, watching to see what she would do.

  Tansy wondered if Travis had planted someone here to scare her. She was aware that one good scream, one form leaping unexpectedly from the shadows, would have her shrieking and running for the door.

  She walked on, more nervous now, shining her beam from side to side, looking for any clue to the ring’s hiding place.

  The rain continued to drum against the roof. Save for her own footsteps, it was the only sound she heard.

  Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was not alone.

  “Travis?”

  No answer.

  She turned.

  “Matt? Denise?”

  No answer.

  She turned back. As she did, she heard a faint creaking sound several feet ahead of her. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart felt as if a cold hand had closed about it. There was someone here!

  Well, if Travis or one of his dopey friends was waiting ahead to jump out at her, she would be prepared. And if she was careful and quiet …

  She smiled at the thought of turning the tables and surprising whoever it was that waited to scare her.

  She walked forward more carefully now, trying to put her feet down silently. The creaking continued, slow and rhythmic. She stopped again. She had thought at first that the sound was being made by someone stepping on a loose board. But it was too regular for that.

  What could it be?

  She was more than halfway to the far end of the attic now. She could see the gray stones of the chimney.

  The creaking continued. Suddenly Tansy lost all interest in trying to surprise whoever might be waiting for her. “Travis? Travis, if that’s you, get out here now!”

  No answer.

  The rhythmic creaking continued.

  Tansy bit her lip and considered turning around and heading back. But that might be the very thing the person making the sound, whoever it was, was waiting for. As soon as she turned her back, he would leap out with a shout, scare a good scream out of her, and then laugh like crazy.

  She had no intention of letting someone spook her that way. Then she had another thought: Perhaps the creaking was the additional clue Travis had said she would find, and it was meant to lead her on. She’d look like a real ditz if she went back to the library without having investigated.

  Taking a deep breath, she continued forward.

  The beam of her flashlight picked out a fascinating jumble of trash and treasures that, under normal circumstances, she would have loved to stop to examine: a white porcelain elephant nearly three feet tall, a cardboard box overflowing with old clothing and hats, and, ahead of her, a richly patterned Oriental rug, spread out at full length on the floor.

  Tansy stopped. The area around the rug was set up almost like a room. The piles of discards around it were like walls. And several pieces of furniture stood on it—a bed, a love seat, and …

  Tansy gasped. She had found what was making the creaking sound.

  The third piece of furniture was a rocking chair.

  It was rocking all by itself!

  Tansy stood for a moment, unable to move. The chair continued to rock back and forth, making the now familiar creaking sound.

  It’s a trick!

  As soon as the thought flashed through her mind, she could feel her pounding heart begin to slow. Travis had said that the treasures would be guarded. He had set this up. One of his friends was making the chair rock, pulling a string or something.

  No. Knowing Travis, he had probably gone all out and connected the chair to a small electric motor. She had watched him tinker with such things before. He was clever enough to arrange something like this with no problem at all.

  Feeling considerably more at ease, Tansy headed for the chair, looking for the string she knew had to be attached to it. Or maybe it was fishing line; that would be harder to see.

  She had to hand it to Travis. He had done a nice job. The whole idea of setting up a space like a little room, as if someone were actually living here, was truly spooky. And the moving chair with its slow creaking sound had really gotten her going.

  The rug was thick and plush, its colors rich even in the light of her flashlight. She stopped for a moment and watched the chair rock. Yes, it had to be a motor making it move with such relentless regularity.

  She c
rossed to the chair, bent to examine it, and felt a sudden chill. She let out a little cry of surprise and stood straight, her heart beating wildly.

  It wasn’t a cold draft she had felt. Something else cold waited here, a penetrating cold that reached inside her.

  She looked around frantically.

  Then, from the empty rocker, came a voice.

  “Don’t be afraid, miss. I won’t hurt you.”

  Tansy screamed. Her flashlight fell from her hand, hit the carpet with a dull thud, and went out—leaving her in total darkness.

  7

  VOICES

  Denise Wu was scared. She had made her way through several of the third-floor bedrooms without finding the rod, and now the game—the house, the storm, the whole situation—was beginning to get to her.

  Standing in yet another doorway, she shook her head, trying to dispel her fear. This was what she had wanted after all: to get really, deeply involved with the fantasy, to live in it—feel it. A little fear was part of what everyone was after in gaming. Or maybe a lot of fear. Anyway, she shouldn’t complain. It was just the kind of excitement she had been looking for.

  She smiled as she thought back to her first experience with fantasy gaming. A pretty girl who happened to be wildly imaginative, Denise was constantly beseiged with requests for dates. Unfortunately, she found most of the boys who asked her out excruciatingly boring, so she usually turned them down. Her mother, a social being if there ever was one, constantly chastised her for being all wrapped up in her own little world.

  Denise had to admit that that was true. She just wasn’t sure it was all that bad. She sure as heck liked her own world better than the world around her.

  Then one day Matt McMasters had invited her to a gaming session, and it had been instant love. Not between her and Matt; between her and fantasy gaming.

  Her fondness for Matt had grown more slowly, though now it was strong indeed. The biggest thing they had in common was that they were different. Very different from each other, actually, but alike in being so different from most kids their age. They shared the experience of being outcasts. It was the one thing about the other that each understood perfectly.