MOON FALL
Page 2
Beano stalked toward Greg, bands out, reaching for the kid's neck. "I'm gonna teach you-"
"Knock it off!" John stepped in front of Greg and looked Beano in the eye. ''We either go back in and watch TV all night, or we take the squirt with us."
"Don't call me Squ-"
John whirled and angrily grabbed Greg's collar. "Be quiet!" He pulled his little brother forward, then bent so they were nose to nose. "Okay. You can go with us, but you'll be in deep shit if Mom and Dad ever find out anything. Anything! Now, swear."
''Cross my heart and hope to die." Greg swallowed hard. "Stick a needle in my eye."
"John, we can't take a chance," Winky said. "He's too young. He might make noise."
"No, I won't!" Greg practically squealed. "I swear it. I just want to do some of the t.p.ing!"
"We're going to St. Gruesome's first," John told him. “Where the gargoyles are. You still believe they can fly?"
The boy hesitated. ''Huh-uh. No way." His eyes widened. "Why are you going there?"
"To see the naked chicks." Beano leered at him and licked his lips.
Greg backed up a step. "I thought nobody could get inside."
''My brother and his buddies got in," Beano bragged, as he walked over to a half-filled apple box and extracted a big red one. He bit into it and chewed loudly. "And now we're getting in." He turned and walked toward Greg. "But you know what those nuns do to you if they catch you?"
"What?" Greg asked, eyes widening.
"They take your pants down, so you're butt-naked in front of all those girls, and then they tie you up and whip you until you cry!"
"No way," Greg murmured, but it was obvious that he thought it might be true.
"He's telling the truth," John said solemnly. "Remember Raul? They caught him. He couldn't sit down for a week!"
"Maybe I could watch your bikes or something?" Greg suggested softly. ''I just want to t.p. I'd puke," he added disparagingly, ''if I had to look at naked girls, anyway."
''Yeah, like you ever seen one, you baby," Beano sneered.
"Are you sure we can trust him?" Winky asked John.
He nodded. "He'll be fine with the bikes."
"I promise, guys." Greg turned on his smile again.
"Okay." John tried to hide his nervousness. He wasn't as sure of Greg as he pretended-the kid was easy to spook. For that matter, he himself hadn't even been that hot to go to St. Gruesome's tonight, at least, not until his brother almost blew the whole thing. Now it seemed worth the risk.
Five minutes later, John was in the lead as the six pedaled hard up Apple Hill Road. He caught the good scents of burnt pumpkin and wood smoke in the air. There was no traffic, and Moonfall, cloistered in mountains, shrouded in their shadows, was deathly quiet behind the wind in their bicycle spokes. Silently the boys circled into the town square and left Paul's backpack hidden near the statue of Jeremiah Moonfall, then continued on like ghosts in the night.
Originally, they were going to go on foot, following the stream that led the two miles cross-country from the Addamses’ place to St. Gruesome's, rather than risk the road. But the Appleseed Orchard lay in between, and crossing it was risky because of Bert and Ernie, the Dobermans who roamed the orchard at night. And to make it worse, when-if-they finally reached the forest that edged St. Gruesome's property, they would have had to do some seriously treacherous climbing, and that would have been time consuming and dangerous in the dark. It had taken some doing, but in the end, John, backed by Paul and Winky, had finally convinced Doug and Beano, who still liked to play soldier, that the road was the only way to go.
John turned off Apple Hill Road, raising dust with the wheels of his aging mountain bike. He breathed a sigh of relief as they cruised across Apple Heaven's parking lot. The store, owned by St. Gruesome's, was primarily a bakery where the nuns sold fresh apple everything-pies, cakes, breads, butters, jellies, jams, and sauces-the same things that all the rest of the Moonfall stores sold. They also sold "Heavenly Mincemeat Pies," which Beano, the gourmet of the group, swore were so good they must have been blessed by God Himself. John couldn't bring himself even to taste mincemeat. As far as he was concerned, dark brown glop belonged on the sole of your shoe, not in a warm pie crust.
They rode behind the store and dismounted, then walked their bikes up a small rise, then down, carefully skirting the chain that blocked the private dirt road to the school. John glanced back toward the main road and was happy to see it was out of sight. That meant they were, too.
All around them were St. Gruesome's orchards, and beyond those loomed the pitch-black forest. The old orphanage, once a monastery, was invisible, hidden behind woods at least a mile farther down the winding road.
As John stared into the forbidding darkness, fear began nibbling away at his resolve. The night was utterly still; no birds sang, no leaves rustled. The only sound was his breathing and that of his friends. Everything around them seemed to be waiting, and he began to wonder if the stories about spirits roaming the land on Halloween night might hold some truth. Overhead, a night hawk cried and he fought down a shiver. Think about the girls, numbnuts! Sternly, he told himself that his hands were trembling because of the chill mountain air. When he was half-convinced, he looked at the others. "Hey."
Winky's flashlight bobbed around. "What?"
"No lights."
"Nobody's gonna notice," Beano hissed, turning his own, too.
"We can't chance it."
"But it's too dark to ride without them," Winky protested.
''We walk the bikes."
"John's right," whispered Paul, always the voice of reason.
''Then we might as well just leave 'em here," Beano grunted.
"You're not gonna leave me here!" Greg's eyes shone wide in the moonlight.
"No," John said. "We'll take them with us. We can ride back-it'll be safe to use the lights coming out."
Winky nodded sagely. "Especially if we need to make a fast getaway."
Beano forced a belch. ''Okay, let's move. I wanna see some pussy tonight!"
Three
Tonight the torch would be passed. Freshmen or not, once word got around, they'd be the kings of Moonfall High, the rightful heirs to the windows and peepholes of St. Gruesome's. That's what Beano Franklin kept saying as they stumbled blindly along the dirt road to St. Gertrude's Home for Girls. John was sure Beano's bravado was born of sheer terror. He was also wondering, not for the first time, if Beano's older brother and his buddies had ever actually come out here. He was beginning to think Brian Franklin's stories about frustrated virgins who soaped each other's backs in the showers and massaged one another in bed were pure and utter bullshit. Right now, trying not to shiver, he couldn't believe he'd ever bought such crap.
They had entered the forest about fifteen minutes before, and that was when a claustrophobic black glove enfolded them, shutting out the last traces of moonlight. The air, syrup-thick, barely seeped into John's lungs and his exhalations were equally difficult. He was light-headed and his legs were rubbery. Something screeched among the trees and he imagined he heard leathery wingbeats. If he'd been alone, he'd have turned back long ago, but in front of his friends and his little brother, he refused to show a trace of anxiety.
"Look!" whispered Paul. "There's a light!"
Sure enough, when he craned his neck, John spotted a small glowing rectangle of yellow high between the pine branches. "We're almost there. We gotta move real quiet now."
Not speaking, watching the single light splinter into a dozen or so more, they neared the old monastery. The pines thinned, allowing a stray moonbeam to illuminate the high stone walls surrounding the buildings. A wrought-iron gate loomed not twenty feet away, gargoyles crouching on either side. Even in the dim moonlight the eyes seemed to be watching them, and John hoped Greg would be okay.
"You hear something?" Paul whispered softly.
"Singing?" Winky asked, as the boys moved their bikes off the road and parked them in the shadows of a
pine grove.
The sounds were soft, feminine, faraway. ''Yeah," John whispered. ''Chanting, maybe."
"It kind of sounds like a mass," murmured Paul, the only Catholic among them.
''A mess?" snickered Beano.
"A mass. Like a death mass, or something."
"Monk music," John whispered. "Do nuns do it, too?"
''Yeah, sure. I mean, I guess." Paul paused and they listened to the rise and fall of the voices that seemed to be coming from somewhere behind St. Gruesome's. "It sounds weird, though."
Maybe it was Paul's words, or maybe it was the eerie rise and fall of the voices, or maybe both, but something made John's flesh prickle up in goosebumps. "Is Halloween a holy day, Paul?"
''All Saints' Day is ... the day after Halloween." Paul pushed his glasses up. "But it's not a big deal or anything." His face gleamed white in the thin moonlight as he gazed around at the others. ''Maybe we shouldn't go in if they're having a religious service."
"What're you, Pricket?'' Doug whispered. "Chicken?"
Beano cleared his throat. ''Hey, Pricket, what's black and white and red and black and white and red?"
Paul rolled his eyes, nervousness forgotten. "Sunburned nuns."
"Huh-uh." Beano leered. "Nuns in a blender. Now, quit being a pussy and let's go inside."
Doug, Beano, Winky, and even Paul looked ready to go in, so John put his hand on his little brother's shoulder and guided him over to the bicycles. He felt sorry for the kid, who looked ready to pee in his pants. John wasn't feeling much braver, but he gave Greg a confident smile. ''Your job's really important, Squirt. You have-"
"Don't call me Squirt."
"Shhh. Don't talk ... whisper. Look, you have to stay with the bikes. If anybody comes along, hide behind the trees and stay still. Be quiet. After they're gone, alert us by doing a whippoorwill twice, then count to a hundred slow and do it again. And don't worry about those stupid gargoyles. They're just statues. They can't do anything."
The boy nodded, eyes wide. "But what if you don't come out?"
"We'll be back, Squirt, don't worry." John pulled his flashlight from his back pocket, then took off his watch and briefly shined the light on its face. Then he handed both to Greg. ''But just in case, it's quarter to twelve now. If we're not back by two, you should go home."
"He'll tell on us," Doug hissed.
"No, he won't," John muttered. He turned back to Greg. "Can you find your way by yourself? Just follow this road back to Apple Hill, then cross- make sure you look both ways- and go home. Did you leave your window open when you snuck out?"
"Sure, but you're coming back, aren't you?" He cast another nervous glance at the gate.
''Of course we are. We're just making plans in case the nuns catch us or something, so you won't get in trouble, too."
"Okay."
Greg's voice sounded small and alone to John as he rejoined his friends. When he told Greg to leave if they didn't come back, it was mostly selfish-if Mom and Dad found out they'd brought the kid out here, he'd be in about a million times as much trouble as he would if he got caught by himself. But now, leaving the little booger there by himself, he felt really guilty. Greg had to be scared spitless.
Beano tugged his jacket sleeve and glared at him, then at the iron gate made of ornately spiked black rods. The gargoyles leered down at them, grinning winged dogs, or monkeys, or something. Their stone eyes seemed to glitter. ''It's not locked. You go first, Lawson."
''Why me? Why not you, for once? Or Doug?" It was a stupid question. He didn't know why-maybe because his dad was sheriff or something- he always went first. It was kind of funny that they thought of him as the big, brave leader, when he secretly knew that even Paul Pricket was braver than him. All he ever did was go along with whatever scheme Doug and Beano came up with. Just like Winky and Paul, he didn't want to look like a wuss.
"Okay," he heard himself say, as he put his hand on the latch. He could feel the gargoyles watching him as the gate creaked on its rusty hinges and began slowly to open. He shivered as a nightbird screamed over the singing. "Let's go."
Four
The sun shot hot needles of light through John's closed eyelids. Groaning, he turned his face away, felt something moist and cold against his hot cheek. He lay still, eyes closed, head pounding, unable to think, unable to move, not knowing or caring where he was.
Slowly, his senses began to awaken. First, there was the smell of the moss pillowing his cheek, the rich odor of damp earth, the tang of the pine forest. Wood smoke wafted on a gentle breeze, and on that same breeze, a fine spray of cool mist washed over his face. All-encompassing thunder filled his ears; the roar of water.
Witch Falls? He groaned softly, clearing his throat, tasting bile and dust. His stomach rose into his throat, then subsided. What am I doing here? The thought came sluggishly, as if his brain had been turned off and rusty gears were struggling to turn again. It felt a little like the time he'd taken one of the Valiums that Beano had pinched from his father's pharmacy, but much, much worse.
Beano! Memories surfaced of riding along Apple Hill Road, he and the guys. Leaving toilet paper at the statue, then riding in the dark and wondering if spirits might really walk on Halloween night.
"Beano?" he croaked, slitting his eyes against the bright morning light.
His eyes registered Witch Falls twenty yards away, but his brain took forever to process the information. What am I doing here?
Birds sang in the trees.
The whippoorwill call!
"Greg!" Suddenly remembering his brother, he pushed himself up on his elbows. "Greg!" he cried again, now seeing other boys sleeping nearby. Beano's husky body was curled into a ball; Paul lay on his stomach, his glasses gone. Farther away, he recognized Winky by his red windbreaker and Doug by his army jacket and his godawful snore, audible even above the crash of the Falls.
"Greg!" Head pounding, John pushed himself to his feet, his legs as shaky as a newborn fawn's. After a moment, he walked- staggered, really- over to Beano. "Franklin! Wake up." He poked him in the ribs with the toe of his sneaker and Beano groaned.
John walked unsteadily around the clearing, checking the others, poking them, calling for Greg at the same time. The meadow was small and serene, with wildflowers and grasses growing around old pine stumps, trees cut down for some cabin that was probably long gone by now. John and the others came here often in the summer, just as their parents had before them. His dad called the area "the Mezzanine" because it edged the Falls, which rose another twenty feet above them and dropped nearly as far down into a deep, clear pool that eventually fed Apple and Moonfall Creeks. The Mezzanine was a natural diving board, a place John loved.
He walked away from the Falls now, though, calling Greg's name, his mind clearing as the headache began to let up. Last night, they'd ... they'd what? Planned to t.p. the statue, and ... what else? To come here? That seemed right. But why?
Approaching the path that led out of the clearing, he saw a flash of red among the trees. ''Greg?" He trotted into the shadows. ''Greg?" The bikes were parked under one of the trees, just like they'd left them last night.
Greg stayed with the bikes. "Come on. Greg, this isn't funny!"
''God, my head's killing me."
John jumped at the sound of Beano's voice behind him. "It'll clear," he said, turning to his friend. "Listen, have you seen Greg?"
"Shit, no. What happened?"
''Yeah. What happened?" Doug Buckman joined them. Rubbing his temples. "Christ, my mouth tastes like I was sucking on dog turds."
"I can't find Greg. He was supposed to stay here with the bikes, remember?"
He saw momentary confusion in both boys' eyes. Then Beano nodded hesitantly. "Maybe the little booger ran off."
"No, his bike's here." John squinted into the forest, then turned to his friends. "Do you remember coming here last night?"
"Yeah." Beano scratched his lank hair, dislodging a yellow oak leaf. "I mean, I guess so."
''We came to camp out, remember?" Beano said slowly.
"So what'd you do, Franklin?" Doug asked. "Drug the food? I can't remember shit."
"Fuck you."
"Guys," said John, putting his hands up. "Knock it off. We gotta find Greg."
"Probably, he went home," Doug said. "Remember, you told him to go home if we didn't come back?"
"Come back?" Beano asked. "We were camping out. Why would we tell him that?"
"He was supposed to guard the bikes," John said slowly. He could barely see into the fog blotting his memory. "I guess we didn't want him to bug us, so we left him here for a while. Maybe we fell asleep and he left. I remember ... I remember I asked him if he'd left his window open so he could sneak back in the house, and he said yes."
Doug's brown eyes lit up. "St. Gruesome's! Shit, guys, we were going to go to St. Gruesome's and see the girls. Like your brother used to, Beano."
"Nah," Beano said. "He made all that stuff up."
"He what?" Winky Addams asked, as he stumbled into the group.
Beano actually blushed. "He wrote me from college and said it was all a fake. He said we shouldn't go out there, that there was nothing to see."
Doug grabbed Beano's sleeve and yanked him closer. "You lied?"
"Hell, no. Brian did. He said so in his letter."
"You didn't tell us!" Doug growled. "You let us go out there and- and ... " Looking lost, he let go of Beano.
"I think maybe we talked about going to St. G's," John said slowly. "But we decided to camp out instead."
"Yeah," Winky agreed. "Man, I feel like shit."
Behind Beano, Winky, and Doug, Paul Pricket got to his feet and paused, feeling for his missing glasses. Seeing John, Paul raised his hand in a just-a-minute gesture, then walked cautiously toward the cliffside-Paul couldn't even read the big E on the eye chart without his specs. John watched curiously, then realized by Paul's arm movements that he was unzipping his fly. He turned his attention back to the other three, who were still arguing.