by Robert Gray
“Time murders. Isn’t it bad enough they kill monsters?” I said.
“But they’re my best customers,” Dad said. “Who’d have thought they were time killers.” This last he whispered, as if concealing a curse word. “Should I call URNS for backup?”
“No. That’ll take too long. We’re gonna have to take them down ourselves,” Griff said.
Pure excitement rushed through me as I bounced up and down. “What do you want me to do?”
“You stay here,” Dad said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“But, Dad.”
“We could use her to create a diversion,” Griff suggested.
“Yes,” I chirped. “You’re gonna need a big diversion.”
Dad thought about this for a moment. He shook his head and sighed. “Fine.”
We discussed a plan, a very good and tricky plan, and then I walked over to the table, you know, the one the time killers sat at.
“Do you fine gentlemen want refills?” I asked.
“Sure,” the bearded one said.
One diversion … coming right up.
I walked back to the table with two oversized cups of soda on a tray. I took a deep breath and thought, Here goes nothing, and then I stumbled and fell into the table, sending soda and ice all over the two killers.
“My food!” the red-haired killer yelled as he reached a protective arm around the stromboli.
The other guy just sat there in shock. He looked ready to cry.
“Now!” I yelled.
The time killers suddenly lifted off the ground, and one of them grabbed the table and screamed. “What the?—” His grip on the table slipped. “Ahhhhhh!”
I thought for a killer he was acting pretty un-killer-like.
The other one fell backward off his chair and then jumped onto his buddy’s chair to help get him off. That turned out to be a bad idea. The chair spun faster and faster and both men screamed, “Wooooow! Weeergh! Waaaah!”
Dad tossed a length of rope at the killers. The spinning chair sucked up the rope like a spindle winding thread, and within seconds, the killers were tied together in an awkward embrace.
The chair crashed to the ground, and I said, “Now talk.” I sounded extra tough, because I knew they were bound tight.
“I’ve got fifty bucks in my wallet!” the bearded human cried. “Please, take it … it’s yours … Please! Don’t kill us!”
The other killer pleaded, too, but he had seventy-three dollars and two tickets to see the Giants on Sunday, which seemed to annoy the first killer, because he said, “You told me the tickets were sold out—”
“Okay, you stinking time killers, you want to do this the hard way,” Griff said.
“Who said that? Where’d that voice come from?” The killers tried turning their heads but found this impossible without locking lips.
“Never mind where I am!” Griff yelled. “Start talking!”
The chair lifted up again, taking with it both humans, who screamed like fiendish children.
Yup, these killers were real professionals.
Griff swung the chair in big circles, and one of the killers cried about how he was going to be sick, and when the chair stopped, he puked sauce and cheese all over the other killer.
“Tell me who you work for? Tell me about the murder of Anthony Vampirillios. Of Mary Mastodon. Of little Suzzi Swamper!” Griff yelled.
“What are you talking about? We didn’t murder anyone!”
The chair smashed to the floor, and a table lifted up and hovered high above the wild-eyed killers.
“Oh man, I’m gonna pee myself,” the red-haired human cried.
“Last chance. Speak,” Griff demanded.
Dad covered my eyes, but I could still see a little of the scene between his fingers.
The bell rang, and the front door opened. A woman screamed, a young girl squealed, and a little boy said, “Oh, wow! That’s so cool!”
“Roger! Roger! What’s going on!” the woman cried.
The table eased to the floor, and Dad pulled his fingers away from my eyes so he could defend himself as the woman charged toward him with her purse swinging like a battle axe.
“Untie my husband! Right now!” the woman commanded as she attacked Dad.
“Okay … Okay … Lady, stop hitting me,” Dad said, shielding his face with his arms.
The boy pinched his nose, “Eew, smells like puke and pee in here.”
The whole mess concluded with the two men swearing they’d never come back to this place if we had the last crumbs on earth, and that their lawyers would be contacting us.
Dad offered them a bag of garlic knots as they left. The little boy reached out to take the bag, but his dad smacked the boy’s hand away. “Don’t touch their food. It’s contaminated.”
The boy’s face lit up. “ Animated! Oh, it can move! Like the table! Cool!”
The human looked ready to vomit again, and he rushed his family out the door before he got sick.
And Dad and I—and maybe Griff, though of course we couldn’t see him—stood there, dumbfounded.
After a long moment, Griff broke the silence. “Huh. I guess they weren’t Source agents after all.”
FOURTEEN
THE WRATH OF MCDOUGAL
The next day, Dad stopped the van a few blocks from school without me even asking. He gazed out the front window and smiled softly. “I forget that you’re growing up, and it’s embarrassing to be around your old man.”
I got the feeling he was waiting for me to say something like, you don’t embarrass me, Dad, but I didn’t have time for one of those father-daughter moments. I said a quick, “See ya later,” and slammed the door.
When the van pulled away, I adjusted the waist of my blue jeans, checked that my black hoodie was straight and lint free, and searched up and down the road, hoping to see Warren again. No such luck. Carly Beth, Lucy, and Steve weren’t waiting on the school steps for me, either. It seemed my so-called friends had forgotten about me, which made me even madder at the humans. I tried to defend myself, and what do I get for it? I get abandoned, that’s what. How savage and rude the humans were.
But as I entered the school, I realized someone was waiting to see me.
“In my office. Now,” McDougal demanded.
I followed obediently.
As McDougal eased himself into his leather chair, it made a loud farting noise. He flicked his eyes at me and searched my face for any hint of amusement. It took every bit of effort for me to keep from laughing, and I guess I did a good job. He cleared his throat. “Please be seated.”
The chair’s cushion was as thin as paper, and I could feel the cold steel against my lower back. I shifted uncomfortably as McDougal tapped his forefinger against the calendar spread across his desk.
“You had detention yesterday, Miss …?”
“Hallows. It’s Eve Hallows. And I forgot that was yesterday.”
The glare he gave me could’ve cracked granite. He reached into his desk, pulled out a pad, and began scribbling.
“You are the first person to ever skip detention since I’ve been principal.” He placed his pen next to the pad and sighed. “It makes me feel unappreciated. But there is a bigger problem here. Do you know what that is?”
I shook my head.
“Of course, you don’t. What worries me is that you might start a trend—students skipping detention to hang with their friends, or what have you. Do you know the best way to stop your little stunt from becoming the norm?”
“Um, no.” I didn’t think he wanted to hear me say what I really wanted to say.
McDougal leaned toward me. So close that his gigantic chin threatened to poke me. So close that I could almost feel his bushy eyebrows brush against me. Then, he leaned back in his chair and tapped the tips of his thin fingers together, pretty much making the passage of time as painful as possible.
“Sadly, Miss Hello, in order to derail this potential trend, I must make an example of you.
”
“It’s Hallows, and I had to work. My father needed my help at the pizza shop,” I pleaded.
McDougal slammed his hand down as if crushing a bug. “But I gave you detention! That was your priority!” He rose from his chair. He looked ready to lunge at me, but then he cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and returned fully onto his seat, which farted again. This time, though, I had no urge to laugh.
“You are part of a tiny yet disturbing group, Miss Hilly. There are few students who get suspended on their second day at a new school.” He tore the page from his notepad and handed it to me. “I think five days suspension should give you some perspective on your attitude here at Oak Hill High.”
I read the words NOTICE OF SUSPENSION across the top. Fine. I could use the vacation anyway. I hated this place. But when my eyes reached the bottom of the note, a sandy lump grew in my throat.
“My parents have to see you in order for me to come back to school?”
“That is school policy.” McDougal lifted his hands, palms up, as if this whole mess was beyond his control.
“But … but …”
“Please tell your parents I look forward to meeting them. You are dismissed,” McDougal said, shooing me away.
I walked for ten minutes in no particular direction, trying to think of a way to avoid telling my parents that I’d been suspended. I might be able to get away with a convincing lie for a couple of days, but sooner or later I’d have to tell them the truth.
I blamed McDougal for this … and Stacey Maxwell. Carly Beth, too, for not standing up for me. But I didn’t stop there. I blamed the entire human race, because even though most humans hadn’t played a part in my pain, I convinced myself it was only a matter of time before every single one of them got a turn at tormenting me.
While I soaked myself in misery, an interesting idea bubbled up. What if I spent my suspension searching for The Source? If I could find them before I have to go back to school, it won’t matter if I told my parents what happened, because we would be home, and this whole mess would be long behind me.
My plan had one big problem, though. I didn’t have a single clue except for the business card. What could it mean? What did The Source even mean? The basis of something? Where something began? Too vague. And what was The Source even the source of? Destruction? Pain? Torture? Murder? More importantly, why advertise on a card? Why murder someone and then be so civilized as to place a business card at the scene? It didn’t make any sense.
Without even trying, I managed to walk in a big circle and landed right back at the school. My thoughts shifted to the source of my pain and suffering. Principal McDougal.
And then it hit me. McDougal was The Source. He was very business-like, hence the card; he hated Halloween, hence he would murder monsters to stop Halloween; he was an obvious lunatic, hence it made perfect sense!
But what about Warren? Could he be involved, too? I couldn’t rule it out. He was, after all, a human, capable of all sorts of heinous things. Behind those tombstone eyes … and those tight muscles … and that cute way he flipped his hair out of his eyes—
Whoa! Get back on track, Eve.
Okay, so now that I had a target, I had to figure out how to get close enough to McDougal so I could spy on him. I couldn’t just show up at his house. That would make Dad suspicious, since I worked at the pizza shop after school.
I could tell Dad the truth—that would be the smartest choice, I supposed, but after yesterday’s incident with the time killers, I didn’t think Dad trusted my judgment. I could ask Griff for help, but since he worked at URNS with Dad, I doubted I could trust him to keep my suspension a secret.
That left me with one option, as far as I could see. I had to spy on McDougal during school hours.
I entered the school during fourth period. The empty halls didn’t help my nerves any. Walking around in the open like this made me a target.
Staying close to the lockers and rushing to the end of each hallway (in case I had to hide suddenly), I worked my way to the office.
Through the large glass wall, I saw Mrs. Nutley, the old receptionist, behind her desk. Several other humans worked behind her, answering phones or typing on keyboards. Behind them and to the left, I noticed McDougal’s closed office door and another office that appeared to be for the Vice Principal—who I hadn’t met yet, and at this moment didn’t want to meet. No way I could get in there now without pretty much everyone seeing me.
I retraced my steps and headed to a bathroom, where I could hide in one of the stalls and think out a plan.
Fifteen minutes later, and not even close to coming up with an idea, I heard two girls walk in.
“I can’t wait for today to be over. Metzger is driving me crazy with all that nonsense about monomials and polynomials. I mean who cares?”
“I know, right. What’s the point? I’m never gonna use that stuff for anything.”
“I should pull the fire alarm. That would fix this mess. Besides, I could use some fresh air.”
“You would never.”
“I know, but it sure would be great if someone did.”
I had been holding my breath since the two girls walked in, and I let it out in a huff when they left.
Pulling the fire alarm … I mulled this idea over in my head about a half a second longer than I needed to. The alarm would send everyone outside, giving me plenty of time to search McDougal’s office for clues.
Perfect.
FIFTEEN
FIRE!
I poked my head out of the bathroom and scanned the hallway. No one was coming. Even better, I noticed those fire-alarm thingies were on pretty much every wall. I could just run up to one and yank the handle. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that would be a bad idea. There’d be nowhere to run once the classrooms emptied out. It’d be better to find an alarm in a section of the school no one visited. I headed for the library.
I crept stealth-like past the classrooms—where teachers lectured, chalk scratched against boards, and students chattered to one another, oblivious to the lessons being taught. Everyone seemed good and occupied, but that didn’t help my nerves any.
When I reached the end of the hall, I took a sharp right and darted by the art, cooking, and music rooms. The silence here made my heartbeat sound like an explosion by comparison, and I kept glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see McDougal’s giant chin following me.
Past the library, on the far back wall, I noticed one of those small red boxes. Above it, in bold, black letters read FIRE ALARM: FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY.
Well, I thought, if catching a killer isn’t an emergency, then I don’t know what is. I gripped the white T-bar handle, took a deep breath, and mentally began to count. One … two—
“What are you doing?”
I began to speak without turning, “Um, uh, er.”
Then I heard someone else’s voice, a boy’s.
“Just heading to the bathroom, Mr. Blonski.”
“The closest bathroom is the other way,” Mr. Blonski said.
“Oh, right.”
I dashed into one of the classrooms before anyone noticed, and I thought I was safe, until I heard the tight clap of dress shoes against tile heading my way. Blonski must’ve seen me! I surveyed the classroom, and to my horror realized I was in some kind of torture chamber. The place was loaded with saws, knives, hammers, and Jack knew what else.
The door handle clicked. Now would be an excellent time to hide, I thought.
Blonski entered, clearing his throat about ten times. Whatever clogged his throat didn’t seem to want to come out. He then slipped into a chair behind a desk, opened up a newspaper in front of his face, propped his feet up, and continued to clear his throat as he flipped through the paper.
I tucked myself behind a machine labeled BAN SAW. The contraption had a long belt-like blade perfect for severing arms and legs. Maybe this place served as Principal McDougal’s personal torture room. Maybe Blonski was the ex
ecutioner!
After what seemed like forever stuck on my haunches, my knees felt read to burst, and my calves had strands of hot wire worming through them. Blonski didn’t seem to have any interest in leaving. I needed to think up some kind of diversion. And quick.
Behind me, I noticed a row of wooden tables and chairs, and shelf after shelf of more torture tools—sharp things and long curvy things and stubby blunt things of all shapes and sizes. To the left of the shelves, a line of dirt-covered windows smeared beams of swirling dust onto the cement floor. Next to the far left window, I spotted a door. Where it led, I had no idea, but it had to be better than here.
I dared a glance at Blonski, his face still buried in the newspaper. I took a deep breath and low crawled to the next machine, one labeled TABLE SAW. Here a menacing round blade protruded from a metal table. I gasped when I saw my reflection in the blade. The shock threw off my balance, and I fell back into another table, which screeched adorably as the metal legs slid along the floor.
Oh, Jack. Please tell me I didn’t just do that.
I popped my head up over the table, knowing that Blonski’s eyes would be locked right on me. When I saw the newspaper drop, I froze. A deep exhale escaped through Blonski’s nose.
And …
And Blonski was fast asleep.
I scrambled into the next room—some kind of sewing room, used to sew together the body parts chopped off in the previous room, by the looks.
On the far wall, I found another of those red rectangular boxes. Next to it, an open window perfect for escaping through.
I yanked down the white T-Bar handle, and two things immediately happened: A clear ink squirted onto my hand and clothing, and the alarm blazed throughout the school like a … well, like a fire.
With the school to my back and a wall of trees to my front, no one could see me. I checked around the corner of the brick wall and watched everyone gather into the parking lot. The students had big smiles on their faces. Some even looked excited at the idea that the school might actually be on fire, pointing at different spots on the building where they were convinced flames would erupt at any moment.