The Nightmarys

by Dan Poblocki

  Deep inside the house, a buzzer rattled. It was a shocking sound, like a joke-shop handshake trick. After several seconds, they heard someone approach the front door. The doorknob turned, and the door opened. Standing just inside, a stooped man with gnarled knuckles grasped the handles of a silver walker. He seemed barely able to lift his head but managed to look at them with curious eyes. His distorted pupils seemed to spill into the ice-blue rings of his irises. The sight of the man’s grandfatherly outfit—gray slacks, a stained white T-shirt, and fuzzy gray slippers—was a relief. Behind him, the house was filled with daylight. Inside the foyer, a large staircase wound upward to several landings.

  “Can I help you?” said the old man, his voice shaking. He managed to smile, looking happy at the prospect of visitors, even if he did not recognize them.

  Timothy nudged Abigail. She stepped forward. “Are you … Jack?”

  “Jack?” said the man, amused. “Well, yes, I suppose some people call me that.”

  “We’re looking for the son of Christian Hesselius,” said Timothy.

  The man raised his head, which trembled on his weak neck, and looked at them more closely. “Well, then … you’ve found him.”

  “We got your name and address from Gavin Engstrom at the college library,” said Abigail. “Do you mind if we ask you some questions?”

  The man seemed confused. “Is this about my father’s office? Because my lawyer told me …”

  “No, it’s not … entirely,” said Abigail. She cleared her throat. “We just wanted to talk to you about … the past.”

  “The past?” said the old man. His eyes darted between Timothy and Abigail. “Most kids your age aren’t interested in talking about stuff like that.”

  “We’re sorry to bother you,” Timothy said, “but it’s important.”

  “Ah, well, if it’s important,” the man answered, teasing. He was silent for several seconds. Finally, he moved his walker out of the way and motioned for them to come inside. “Can I get you something to drink? Eat?” He led them through a doorway into the kitchen. “Sorry this place is such a mess. The visiting nurse doesn’t work weekends, and even though it’s not in her job description, she usually helps me clean up after myself. I’ve never been very good at that. Not even when I could lift more than a couple of books at a time.” Across the room, his walker bumped into the oven. He glanced at the kids, who stood in the doorway. “So what’ll it be?”

  Timothy was hungry, but he knew that wasn’t what they’d come for. Besides, this place didn’t smell very good.

  “Nothing for me, thanks,” said Abigail.

  “Please. At least sit down. I get nervous when people stand in doorways.”

  The kids came inside and stood next to the table. Jack waited several uncomfortable seconds, until they’d both pulled out chairs and sat down. “So … the past,” he said. “What about it?”

  Timothy glanced at Abigail. He couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Had she?

  “Your father,” said Abigail. “How well did you know him?”

  Jack leaned against the oven, facing them directly. “As well as any son knows his parent, I suppose.” When Abigail didn’t immediately answer, he continued, “I think I understand what this is about.”

  “You do?” Timothy asked.

  “You’ve heard the old stories,” Jack suggested simply. “You want to know if they’re true.”

  “The old stories?” said Abigail.

  “This city has tried to erase his legacy, both good and bad,” said Jack. “Over the years, people have often sought answers from me. In all honesty, when it comes to my father, I have no answers. I only have my opinion, and that is: my father was a good man … despite the evidence.” He smiled. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.” The way Jack spoke reminded Timothy of someone reading a script, as if the old man didn’t believe his own words.

  “How long have you lived in this house?” Timothy asked. “I thought this place was empty.”

  “Oh, several months now. I’d been away from New Starkham for quite a while. Something brought me back, I guess. Nostalgia? I don’t know. When you’re my age, you don’t have too many friends left in the world. You return to your roots. Either that or move to Florida. And I hate Florida.” Jack choked out a laugh. “There’s one thing I can thank my daddy for: imprinting New Starkham in my brain. I’ve never forgotten this place or its people. I suppose you might say it’s all part of me now.” He pointed at them, his hand shaking. “You just wait. In sixty years, we’ll see where you end up. Tell me if I’m right.”

  “But you’ll be …,” Timothy began, before stopping and turning bright red. Abigail glared at him.

  “What?” said Jack. He laughed again. “Dead? Well … that’s probably true.”

  Abigail stood up. “Mr. Hesselius …” Timothy’s nerves suddenly tied themselves up again. “We’re here because we’re trying to find out what happened when your father was … sent away. We spent the morning at the college library researching as much as possible about him. Timothy accidentally stumbled upon his old office. Gavin, the librarian, said he’d shown you around the place a couple of months ago. Is that true?”

  The old man was quiet for several seconds. Timothy could hear his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. Way to get right to the point, Abigail, he thought.

  “Now, now,” said Jack, impressed, glancing at Timothy. “You’ve got yourself a sassy girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my—” Timothy started, but Jack interrupted.

  “It’s true. I read in the papers about the reappearance of my father’s belongings.” He paused. “Why are you so interested? What’s so important that you’d spend your Saturday morning at the library?”

  “It’s hard to explain,” said Timothy.

  “I really shouldn’t talk about it. My lawyer …”

  “Mr. Hesselius—” Abigail said.

  “Please, Hesselius was my father,” said the old man. “I’m Jack.” He sighed and nodded. “To answer your question, yes, the librarian was kind enough to allow me access to the room.”

  Abigail leaned forward. “Did you find anything important?” she said slowly, as if her questions might scare him away. “Anything your father wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know about?”

  Jack snorted in surprise. “What are you getting at?”

  Abigail started to reach into her back pocket. Timothy’s mouth went dry. She pulled out the three baseball cards. Timothy clutched at the kitchen table. “Do these look familiar?” She got up and crossed to the oven.

  “Where did you get …?” Jack was stunned. “Did you take those from the office?” Without hesitation, Abigail handed the cards to the old man.

  “Not to keep,” she said. “Just for … reference.”

  Jack’s hands shook as he examined the players’ faces. “Carlton Quigley. Bucky Jenkins. Leroy Fromm.” He looked up. “The Diamond Stars. These guys were Daddy’s favorites. He used to take me to games in Boston. I actually saw them play. These cards were very important to him. His pride and joy. I could never forget these,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion. “Thank you for bringing them back to me.”

  Very quietly, Abigail answered, “You’re welcome.”

  Jack’s reaction to the cards made Timothy feel safe again. The old man looked truly happy. Timothy stood up and said, “The cards were in a frame. The frame blocked a safe built into a bookshelf. Gavin said the safe was locked.”

  Jack smiled. “Until I got there, it was,” he said. Abigail glanced at Timothy, confused. “These cards are more than just cards. They’re a clue my father left me a long time ago. It took me forever to figure it out. But the discovery of that room in the library certainly helped. I never even knew about it until I read about it. Pity they kept it sealed up all these years. So much wasted time.”

  “A clue?” said Timothy. “What kind of clue?”

  “When I saw the frame, I
was able to finally figure it out,” said the old man. “Each player has a number on his jersey. First, second, third base. Jenkins, Quigley, Fromm. The safe’s combination.”

  Timothy tried to keep his voice even as he said, “So the safe wasn’t empty?”

  “Of course, my lawyer would kill me for telling this to anyone…. But you kids look like you can keep a secret,” Jack whispered. “Am I right?” Without hesitation, Timothy and Abigail both nodded. “It was my father’s journal,” he added.

  “Your father’s journal was in the safe?” said Abigail.

  “I slipped it into my coat pocket when that librarian wasn’t looking,” said Jack. “No one ever suspects the old man.” He winked. “We get away with so much.”

  “What was in the journal?” Timothy asked.

  “Proof,” said Jack simply. “That my father was as human as the next. He was no monster. He loved me. He was distraught about Fred, my twin brother, who was killed in the war. I didn’t serve. I’m not yellow or anything. Got the flat feet. It was a difficult time for me back then. People can be cruel.” He shuddered, then continued. “The book was filled with pages upon pages of how much my brother and I meant to him, how much he missed Fred, what he would give if only he could have changed things.” The old man stared at the floor. “I would have done anything to make him happy again. I’ve spent most of my life following in his footsteps. Studying what he studied. Learning what he knew. Finding that journal changed everything….”

  “The journal didn’t mention anything else?” asked Abigail. Timothy knew what she wanted to ask. But how could they possibly bring up the Chaos Tribe, the trial, and Delia’s resting place without seeming crazy themselves, or at least totally insensitive?

  “See it for yourself,” said Jack, grappling his walker’s handles and shuffling the metal frame toward the kitchen door. “I think Jenny, my nurse, put the book in the upstairs office. I can’t make the stairs, but you’re welcome to go find it.”

  “O-Okay,” said Abigail. She glanced at Timothy. He nodded. Maybe there was something in the journal that could take them to the next step.

  Jack led the kids back into the foyer. He pointed up the stairs. “All the way to the top. Door’s the only one in the hallway. I think the book is on the desk near the window. Bring it down, would you? I’d like to look at it again myself.”

  Together, Abigail and Timothy climbed the wide staircase. Each step creaked. At the first landing, an entry led to a short hall lined with closed doors. Timothy glanced up the next set of stairs. At the top landing, he could see the open door Jack had mentioned. It must lead to the room with the octagonal window over the porch. Timothy had a strange feeling. Why would an old man in Jack’s condition purchase a tall house like this? Sure, Jack had mentioned that his nurse helped him out, but still, why not live in an apartment like Abigail’s grandmother? He scrambled to follow Abigail up the stairs.

  Jack called to them, “You make it?” At the top, Timothy glanced over the railing. The old man waved from the foyer. “It’s a hike. I still haven’t been up there,” he said. “Stupid of me to buy a three-story house at my age, but I just fell in love with it. It’s nice and quiet at the end of this street.”

  Timothy’s stomach fluttered. Jack had just answered his question. Weird …

  “Jenny said she put the book on the desk,” Jack called, his voice growing faint as Timothy moved away from the railing and followed Abigail into the large empty room. “Do you see it?”

  Bare wooden beams held up the violently pitched roof. The walls slanted all the way to the floor—raw, dusty planks. The desk sat underneath the window. Abigail stopped in front of it.

  “Is it there?” Timothy whispered.

  Abigail shook her head. She picked something up and turned around. In her hands was a familiar book. Timothy froze when he saw it; his feet stuck to the floor. It was not the notebook Jack had mentioned. He tried to reach out and take it from her, to see if his eyes were playing tricks, but he couldn’t even do that. His arms went dead.

  These cards are more than just cards. They’re a clue my father left me a long time ago.

  Looking at the cover of The Clue of the Incomplete Corpse, he wanted to start laughing, or crying, or shouting … anything to rid himself of this dreadful feeling. But he could barely breathe.

  “That looks like the same copy I found in the museum,” Timothy whispered. “Flip through it. Find 102, 149, and 203.” Abigail opened the book. When she reached those pages, the faint pencil markings made everything clearer. “He said his father gave him a clue a long time ago. This book! Hesselius must have somehow gotten a copy. He wrote the names of his favorite players in it, expecting that his son would find the cards in his office. All Jack needed was their jersey numbers and field positions to figure out the combination. The thing was, Jack never found the office. He never learned what his father wanted him to know … until a couple of months ago.”

  “But then where’s the journal …?” Abigail asked, her voice trailing off as she glanced past Timothy’s shoulder, her mouth dropping open.

  Timothy spun toward the attic door. To his horror, Jack stood there wearing a strange smile. He was no longer hunched and wobbly; in fact, at his full height, he looked tall and strong. He held on to the doorknob, blocking the only way out. “Right here,” he said. With his other hand, he revealed a small leather-bound book. “Full of secrets.” Timothy felt Abigail grab his hand.

  Jack reached into his pocket, pulling out the three baseball cards. “Earlier this week, after I dropped my book at the museum, I told you, Timothy, that you shouldn’t take things that don’t belong to you. You don’t listen well.”

  Timothy felt his own skin shrink. It was him. The shadow man in the museum, and the locker room … maybe even the man he’d seen coming out of the Mayfair apartment building. This was the man with the jawbone, who had used Abigail’s fear of the Nightmarys to make her believe this was all her fault. And he was no ghost.

  “Don’t worry, Abigail,” said the old man. “I was never going to hurt you—a lesson I learned from my father. I’m not even going to touch you. Now that you know the truth, now that you fear the place where your end will come, the journey is inevitable. You’ll probably just walk there yourself. Your fear will be your guide. And you won’t have Granny to stop it from happening this time.”

  Keeping firm hold of her hand, Timothy stepped forward. “She has me,” he said as loudly as he could manage, which wasn’t very loudly at all.

  “Oh, she has you, does she?” the old man asked, amused. “Well then, maybe you can go with her.” He paused, considering them. “It’s funny how things work out, don’t you think?” He stepped backward into the hallway and closed the door. The lock turned. His footsteps creaked down the stairs.

  36.

  Timothy pounded on the door, and Abigail kicked at it. For almost a minute, they shouted for Jack to come back up and let them out, even as Timothy realized how foolish they were being. As if the old man would really change his mind. They leaned against the door, exhausted and frightened. Timothy spent several seconds trying not to say “I told you so.”

  Finally, Abigail turned to him and said, “Well, at least now we know.”

  “Now we know?” said Timothy. “Know what?” He was shocked that Abigail could sound so matter-of-fact.

  “Everything, pretty much,” she said. “And when you know stuff, you can use it against people.”

  Abigail laid the puzzle pieces out. Jack had said the cards were a clue his father had given him years ago. A code. Christian Hesselius had gotten his hands on a copy of the Zelda Kite Mystery and used it to pass the code to his son. The writing in the book’s margins might have been the last message Christian had ever given to his son. That was why it was so important that Jack retrieve the book from Timothy’s gym locker.

  “Right,” said Timothy. “A few months ago, when the college opened the wall in the library, Jack learned that the code opened the
safe in the bookshelf. He finally had access to his father’s journal. The journal must have revealed the location of the jawbone.”

  “Well, we know it was at the museum,” Abigail said. “Would Christian have donated it to such an obvious place?”

  “Sometimes the hardest things to see are what’s right in front of your face.”

  Abigail considered that for a few seconds. “Jack was at the museum during our field trip. Right? You saw him standing in that hallway. He watched everything that happened. Knowing I was angry with each of you, he cursed you and Stuart and Mr. Crane. Since he probably cursed me just after I moved here, he made me think that what was happening to all of you was my fault.”

  With all this cursing, the tooth’s battery must be growing weak, thought Timothy.

  Abigail continued. “The Nightmarys. If I didn’t go with them, each of you would only get worse and worse. The Nightmarys never came to visit. Jack just wanted me to think they had.” She paused. “What I don’t understand is, how did he know the Nightmarys would have such power over me?”

  “You said it yourself back at the library,” Timothy answered. “The jawbone gives the user the ability to read the victim’s mind. He got inside your head, influenced you, pushed the curse in a certain direction.”

  “Is Jack doing the same thing to Stuart and Mr. Crane? And you too?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s not pushing us so much. The curse seems to work differently on different people, doesn’t it? Maybe it depends on how you handle your fears? Maybe Stuart and Mr. Crane just freeze up, let it get the best of them? I know when I get scared, I have to do something about it. Maybe that’s why I’m not stuck in a psycho ward.”

  Abigail lit up. “I can do that too,” she said.

  “What? Go to a psycho ward?”

  “No, dummy. Handle it. Do something. Jack said something like ‘I fear the place where my end will come.’ And he’s right. I do fear that. But how do I stop it from happening?”