The Dragon's Eye: Sequel to Where the Stairs Don't Go (The Corridors of Infinity Book 2)

by Shae Hutto

  “No,” replied Nick honestly.

  “What about the others?” asked Vogelscheuche.

  “That Irish thug, he was with a mad fiend of a woman, what had bright red hair and purple eyes,” said Espantapajaros vehemently. “She swung this massive silver axe. Able to murderate werewolves with a single blow.” He gestured with exaggerated, violent chopping motions. “And there was a hell-hound,” he added as an afterthought. “Fire bugs, the lot of ‘em,” he mumbled as a post-post-script, his innate mistrust of fire apparent. They all shifted their gazes to look at Amanda doubtfully. “There weren’t no zombie like this un,” said Espantapajaros grudgingly.

  Amanda bit her already bloody lip, trying to take being mistaken for a zombie as good fortune. At least she would be able to save money on her Halloween costume this year.

  “She coulda got bit and turned zombiefied, Espan,” said the goblin-thing.

  “That’s true ‘nuff,” mused Vogelsheuche.

  “But her hair ain’t red, what little the poor thing’s got,” said Espantapajaros. “And her eyes ain’t purple, neither.”

  “Blazes, they ain’t even got no hell-hound, Vogel,” said the goblin thing. Vogel turned his burlap head to look where Weenie had been a minute before.

  “Who was they a yellin’ at earlier, then?” he asked shrewdly.

  “You got a hell-hound?” asked Espantapajaros pointedly.

  “No,” said Nick, again. Espan looked at Vogel triumphantly at this proof of his point.

  “Who was you yellin’ at?” persisted Vogelscheuche, refusing to let it go.

  “Our friend, Casper,” said Amanda innocently. “He’s a ghost,” she added and instantly regretted her choice of names. Nick looked at her worriedly as he groaned slightly.

  “What a ridiculous name for a ghost,” said the goblin thing.

  “Fine,” said Vogel. “This ain’t the personables we’s after. But that don’t mean I’m gonna just let ‘em go. Happy Jack don’t like strangers what got no business in The Hollow. They’s proll’y arsonics anyhow. I hates me some arsonics.”

  “Yes, don’t we all,” agreed Amanda sweetly. “We’ll be on the lookout for personables what seem arsonicky,” she said as she pulled on Nick’s arm and tried to edge past the trio confronting them.

  “Nope, little miss living dead girl,” said Vogel as he grabbed her roughly by the elbow with his leather glove-hands. “You is coming with us to see Happy Jack. Hey, you, Casper,” this last was yelled at the empty air down the street where their ghost acquaintance was presumably located. “Get lost, ye foul spirit! And no funny stuff!” Vogel turned Amanda around and Espan grabbed Nick in a similar manner. They all turned and began to walk back to Happy Jack’s with the goblin thing behind them. Weenie quietly quit his hiding spot and dashed across an overgrown yard strewn with rotting jack-o-lanterns, where he followed them from the gloom one street over.

  Soon, the sound of unskilled and uninspired labor intruded on their quiet reflections once again as they approached the pile of dilapidation that was slowly growing like a wooden tumor on the armpit of The Hollow. None of their half-witted captors noticed the intense gaze of Nick as his fist clenched and unclenched in time with their steps. Also unnoticed was the evil little dagger that blinked into and out of existence in his cold, steady palm. Amanda noticed both, though.

  “Easy, Nicky,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth. “Let’s not go all commando on them. I’m sure we can talk to this Happy Jack guy.”

  “Shut it, Dawn,” said Vogel harshly.

  “Dawn?” asked Amanda.

  “Dawn of the Dead. Zombie movie. Never mind. Just hush your face.” Despite being very much not a zombie, Amanda was strangely offended by the reference. It almost felt like some sort of racial slur. Then she giggled at the thought of a scarecrow in a movie theatre, watching Dawn of the Dead.

  Happy Jack’s was just as horrible on the inside as it appeared from the street. Several smoky, unsafe candles spread anemic illumination over an interior that looked and smelled like it was constructed mostly from mold and wood-rot. Half-rotten boards joined inexpertly with half burned boards created a weird, splotchy motif. A scarecrow with an enormous jack-o-lantern head towered over all the work crew as he gave directions to a couple of mummies uncrating a piano. Vogel and Espan marched their charges up to the giant scarecrow and waited to be noticed. Happy Jack gave no indication that he was aware of their presence and their three captors seemed reluctant to disturb him on their own. Amanda solved the problem by spitting a huge, bloody loogy onto the piano. Nick groaned and Amanda smiled innocently when Happy Jack turned his malevolently carved face to stare at them with less than happy regard.

  It struck Amanda, as she looked at the scarecrow, that Happy Jack was one of those ironic nicknames; like calling a fat guy Slim or Tiny. Whoever had carved Happy Jack’s pumpkin had gone to great lengths to make him scary in the extreme. From inside his gourd-head, an unholy light that might have shown between the bars on the gates of Hell glowed through the inspired artwork of his features. Amanda fought down an urge to try and run for it. The dagger appeared in Nick’s hand and did not vanish.

  “Well?” asked Happy Jack in a softly sibilant, almost hissing voice. Amanda wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to the other scarecrows. She decided to say nothing. Instead, she just grinned innocently, showing off her bloody teeth. Oddly, she was aware that the darkness the followed Nick like a bad smell was growing; almost seeming to ooze from him. She resisted a compulsion to step away from him that was stronger than the urge to flee in panic that Happy Jack inspired. Espan did step away from Nick involuntarily. Jack shifted his glance from Vogel to Espan and back. “Speak, you retards,” he hissed. “Who are these… these… children? And why have you brought them to me?” His pronunciation of the word ‘children’ managed to pack more disgust and loathing than would have been credible if Amanda hadn’t heard it herself. This guy didn’t like kids, she was almost certain. She giggled again.

  “Uh, boss,” began Espan uncertainly but was cut off by Vogel.

  “These here is two strangers, what we figured was pro’lly arsonics,” said Vogel.

  Happy Jack took a deep breath and let it out slowly in an obvious effort to control his temper. Amanda thought that Jack probably regretted his choice of henchmen on an hourly basis. She almost felt sorry for him.

  “Vogelsheuche,” said Jack calmly. “I told you to be on the lookout for a young Irish man, a red-haired woman with purple eyes and a Dalmatian.” Vogel was nodding enthusiastically. “You bring me a rude zombie and a little kid. Explain how this is helpful.” Vogel stopped nodding and looked worried.

  “They’s strangers!” explained Vogel eloquently. Espan nodded his agreement with this sage argument. Happy Jack looked resigned to working with what he had available.

  “Fine,” he hissed. “Leave your strangers and get back out there. While you three are here, there is nobody out there, looking for our miscreants.” He stood looking calmly, but not benevolently, at the five of them. Nobody made any immediate movements. “GO NOW!” he screamed, his hissing voice cracking and breaking in a way that sounded painful. Everyone flinched. Amanda was pleased to see that Nick had not been startled into taking up pumpkin carving. But he was probably getting close. His personal aura of black soulless despair was starting to blanket the entire space, seeming to mute the already poor lighting.

  The two scarecrows and the goblin thing scattered like frightened rabbits before the vehemence of Jack’s outburst. When they were gone, Jack turned his back on Amanda and Nick, and pulled a handkerchief from his overalls and wiped the bloody snot from his new piano.

  “You may go,” he said calmly, without even turning to look at them. Amanda and Nick shared a glance that showed what they were both thinking: this is too good to be true. Amanda shrugged and she and Nick turned for the door. Columbo style, Jack said, “Oh, there’s just one more thing.”

  Nick and Amanda stoppe
d, their shoulders involuntarily slumping as they realized their dismissal was just as too good to be true as they first thought. They turned back to face Jack who had also turned and was staring at them with his inscrutable mask of carved orange gourd, creepy light spilling out.

  “Since you’re here,” he began as he wiped at a speck of dirt on his new piano with his hanky. “You might as well tell me why. I mean, we don’t get a lot of visitors and those visits have ended badly of late, I’m afraid.”

  “Sorry to hear that, sir,” said Amanda contritely. “Are you the mayor or police chief or something like that?”

  “Something like that,” agreed Jack complacently. “Thank you for your concern, Ms…?”

  “Drew,” she said. “Nancy Drew. This is my cousin, Frank Hardy.” She indicated Nick who was eyeing her with a mix of curiosity and irritation. She had the feeling he would rather the whole situation fall apart so he could kill some people. The boy needs some therapy, she thought. She turned back to face Jack and fought down the urge to speak any more. She would wait for Jack to talk next. Maybe he would forget his question of why they were in The Hollow. If he didn’t, at least it would give her more time to think up something convincing that might get them out the door before Nick went postal.

  “Thank you, Ms. Drew. Nancy. May I call you Nancy?” Amanda shrugged. “I’d like to welcome you and your cousin to The Hollow.” He gave a little bow. “If you would tell me the nature of your visit, perhaps I could be of some assistance.”

  “Just visiting someone,” piped up Nick. Amanda wanted to smack him in his stupid head. Now they had to come up with someone to visit. Someone that Jack wasn’t familiar with and they were. She could think of exactly zero people that fit that description in this town. She tried not to frown.

  “Excellent,” commented Jack. It wasn’t clear if he thought it was excellent that they were visiting someone in his lovely town or excellent that they had clearly made a logical misstep if they were not who they said they were. “Unfortunately, our town has had to do some remodeling in the past few months. People have moved, shifted around as it were. There’s a good chance whoever you’re here to visit doesn’t live where they used to. Fortunately for you, I know just about everyone in The Hollow.” His creepy carved mouth curved upwards at the corners, in a sinister parody of a smile. “Who’s the lucky visitee, then?”

  “Grandma,” said Nick, keeping the ruse going for a few more precious seconds. Amanda shifted her backpack a bit, trying to estimate how long it would take her to get her blaster pistol out. Was her pack partially unzipped? She couldn’t remember. She unconsciously shifted her feet and her weight to a more combat ready stance.

  “You’ll have to give me her name, Frank,” said Jack, snidely. “I don’t think my grandmother and yours are the same person.” Mere seconds remained before the violence started, Amanda thought as she let her backpack fall to the ground with a thud. She bent to pick it up, hand reaching for the zipper.

  “We always just call her Gran Gran,” said Nick. “Her real name is Cailleach. But I think everyone just calls her The Witch.”

  Jack started in surprise. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Amanda slid her hand into the backpack and felt the pistol’s hard rubbery grip. Her fingers curled around it. Was the safety on? Did the thing even have a safety? How many more shots before it needed to recharge? Or need more ammo?

  “The Witch,” said Jack in his wicked hissing voice. “Is one who has not moved. She is still where she has always lived. I did not know she was a grandmother.”

  “She and my mom don’t get along anymore,” supplied Nick.

  “Or mine, either,” piped up Amanda, her fingers uncurling from the pistol grip as the threat of violence slowly receded like a black tide down their beach of lies. “She always said her daughters married trash,” She added. For some reason, Amanda was convinced that The Witch would only have daughters.

  “My dad was an accountant,” said Nick, shamefully. “Gran Gran said she would never speak to her again. Only thing worse than an accountant, is a lawyer, she said.”

  “My mom proved her wrong. She married a used car salesman,” supplied Amanda, disappointment dripping from every syllable. Inspiration hit. “And a zombie. Gran Gran threatened to turn him into belly button lint if he ever dared show his face.”

  “Yes,” agreed Jack. “I can see where she wouldn’t approve.” He shivered in sympathetic disgust at someone who would marry a zombie that sold used cars. After a moment, he seemed to lose interest. “Run along, then,” he hissed. “Send your Gran Gran my regards.” Jack turned his back on the two of them and rubbed at some more smudges on his piano. They turned once more towards the door. Amanda gave Nick a surreptitious thumbs-up and he winked back. They had to stand aside as a large, surly mummy dressed in a bartender apron over his wrappings shoved rudely past them and made his way to Jack. They didn’t wait to see what he wanted, but made their exit as quickly as possible, saving Weenie the necessity of leaping through a half-finished window and rescuing them. Instead he padded up to them as they walked back onto the street, his tail wagging and his tongue lolling in his happiness to see them still alive.

  Nick rubbed Weenie’s head. Amanda waited her turn and petted Weenie, too. He wagged his tail happily with even more vigor, the stress of his almost attempted rescue forgotten.

  “Ok, boy,” Nick said to Weenie. “Take us to The Witch’s house.”

  Weenie headed off into the dilapidated town and they followed him into the creepily shadow filled night and tried to ignore the incessant howling that seemed to come from every direction.

  “Still better than dragons,” mused Amanda under her breath.

  “What is?” asked Nick as they cut through crispy lawn of a thoroughly torched home.

  “The howling,” answered Amanda. “I think wolves are better than dragons. If we have to fight something, let it be smaller than me, right?”

  “Who said the wolves were smaller than you?”

  Amanda couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. She mulled over the image of a wolf larger than herself and pulled the blaster out of her backpack.

  “Just in case,” she said grimly. Nick seemed unfazed.

  Weenie woofed softly, letting them know they had arrived.

  “Seriously?” asked Amanda as she examined the house that squatted like a toad in front of them. The porch was rotten and had a couple of holes in it, as if someone had fallen through it recently. The windows were broken and scorch marks showed where someone had tried unsuccessfully to burn the place down. Burning would have been an improvement, thought Amanda. The building had not a speck of paint on it, unless someone had painted it a flat grey and flecked it with strategically placed water stains and mold. The front door hung ajar on one bent hinge. The yard they were standing in showed a lot of damage from many feet in the recent past and there were several burned out torches littering the ground. And a rotten head in the ditch. Make that two rotten heads. The various odors vied for the honor of assaulting their noses. An odd, light blue nimbus suffused the tissues of the building, creating what looked like a lightly luminescent bubble around the property. “Why don’t we just go back and tell them she wasn’t home?” suggested Amanda.

  Instead of answering, Nick stepped gingerly onto the deck, passing into the bluish aura with no apparent effects, and pressed the doorbell button like an idiot. Why was there even a doorbell button? He knocked on the doorframe which produced a muted thud. He banged harder, still unable to make a sound on the soft, spongy wood that could be heard more than a few feet away. He took a deep breath in preparation for yelling into the house but before he could, Amanda put her hand on his shoulder. She, too, had passed into the blue without much of anything happening. There was a slight sensation of malice and resistance that instantly turned to welcome acceptance, and then she was through.

  “Let’s not make a racket, hm?” she said calmly and reasonably. “Why don’t we just go on in and see if anyone’s
home?” The dark aura pulsed around Nick threateningly but then it receded and Nick nodded. Amanda was beginning to think that Nick was not entirely alone inside his head. Nick boldly stepped over the threshold. Amanda and Weenie followed him cautiously. Inside was much closer to habitable than they would have imagined from looking at the outside. The furniture looked cozy enough, though tacky and dated. No lights were burning and it smelled musty, like nobody had lived there for a while. Enough moonlight washed in from the broken windows that they could see well enough to navigate the furniture.

  “Let’s split up and search the place,” suggested Nick.

  “Hell no. We stick together,” hissed Amanda emphatically. “Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie, dude? Next, you’re going to suggest we go check out the dark, scary basement.”

  “Actually,” said Nick with a grin. “Yeah. That looks like a door to a basement and I think I see some light coming up the stairs. We should go check it out.” He pointed the hand not holding the evil little knife at a door that was partially open, revealing a faint glimmer of illumination. Amanda sighed with what she imagined to be disgusted resignation.

  “Did that sound like disgusted resignation to you?” she asked. “I was going for disgusted resignation.”

  “It was more like annoyed acceptance,” replied Nick. Amanda sighed again.

  “How about that one?”

  “Closer,” he said and slid silently over to the door, where he peaked through the crack. “I don’t see anything. I’ll head down but someone needs to stay and guard this door so we don’t get surprised from behind.”

  “Weenie,” said Amanda softly. “Can you guard the door?”

  Weenie sighed with disgusted resignation.

  “That was disgusted resignation,” said Nick. “The dog can do it. Why can’t you do it properly, Nancy?”