The Lord of the Curtain

by Billy Phillips

“You’re lying,” she said. “You’re dead—and now you’re one of the undead.”

  He winced, caught red-handed and fibbing like a bad poker player. After a lingering awkward silence, a sweet and somber smile came to his lips. He took Caitlin’s hand and patted it gently as he sighed.

  “My dear, dear Cait.”

  Her eye watered as she continued, “That’s why Foster Home Services couldn’t find you.”

  He shrugged sheepishly.

  “You never flew to California from Amsterdam to get me and Natalie. You came to the house in Glendale after climbing out L. Frank Baum’s grave at Forest Lawn Cemetery.”

  His brow furrowed. “Almost got mowed down by a bloody groundskeeper.”

  Derek brushed away the fresh tears from her cheeks. “There’s something else you need to know,” he said.

  Her shoulders sank.

  “Better brace yourself, young Cait.”

  “Please,” she replied in a trembling voice, “it’s hard for me to breathe right now. Just tell me everything and get it over with.”

  “Your good old fart of a gruncle . . . well, I’m not really your uncle.” His aura gleamed clear white.

  Oh my gosh! He’s telling the truth!

  Derek then patted Blackbeard on the back as he held Natalie. “And this is not your grandfather, young Cait. He’s not Bobby Gramps.”

  Natalie’s eyes suddenly bugged out. She nonchalantly squirmed out of his arms and said, “Leg cramps. Need to stretch.”

  Caitlin was trembling. “Now you’re really freaking me out. Who are you people?”

  Derek set his hands on Caitlin’s shoulders. The warmth radiating from his eyes made her weep. “I’m your grandfather, Caitlin,” said Derek as his eyes moistened. “I’m Bobby Gramps!”

  He raised his hands from her shoulders.

  She froze, struggling to process the full extent of what she had just heard. And then she let go of all her earlier misconceptions and flew into his wide-open arms. Bobby Gramps and granddaughter Caitlin held each other, weeping and

  embracing and making up for many years of lost hugs and missed time.

  Caitlin attempted to rein in her emotions, sniffling and wiping her eye on her sleeve. “Why didn’t you just tell me when you knocked on our door in Glendale?”

  “And say what? Hello there, Caitlin Fletcher; I’m your long-dead grandfather Robert ‘Bobby’ Blackshaw, whom you’ve never met before? I’m back from the grave to warn ya of an impending apocalypse?”

  She laughed as he went on. “I had to first find out what you knew. I was about to tell ya during our stroll that night in Glendale, but Cordelia and Harry pulled up. I was gonna tell ya the next morning, but those black-feathered anting addicts came knocking on the door.”

  Caitlin smiled at her gramps and then turned to the pirate.

  “So you are the real Blackbeard?”

  He winked. “Well, sorta.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, first ya gotta know that your Bobby Gramps—that old undead rock ‘n’ roller—he’s also me baby brother.”

  Her jaw dropped. “So you are brothers? You mean—”

  “Yep, I’m your genuine grand uncle—Gruncle Derek Blackshaw, the firstborn. Pleased to meet ya, Caitlin. Last time I saw ya, ya was six months old and bundled cute as a doll in a blanket, I tell ya.”

  “And that’s why you both had photos of my mom. But why the Blackbeard identity?”

  Derek chuckled. “Because me, your gramps, you, and the little lambkins over here—the whole damn lot of us—are all the living descendants of Edward Thatch. The original Blackbeard, a bona fide buccaneer. The Thatch name was changed to Blackbeard”—he winked—“because it was quite an embarrassing name at the time, if ya know what I mean.”

  Caitlin shook her head. “Wait, what you meant to say is that the Thatch name was changed to Blackshaw—not Blackbeard?”

  Gruncle Derek laughed. “Same thing, lass.”

  “Huh?”

  “Me mom—Shirley Thatch—changed the notorious family name. But she still wanted to honor her ancestor, Blackbeard. So she chose the name Blackshaw. Why? I’ll tell ya. The word for beard in Old Norse is shaw. So beard becomes shaw, and Blackbeard becomes Blackshaw . . . and Bob’s your uncle!”

  Caitlin smiled. “In my case, Bob’s also my grandpa. And both my Blackshaw relatives are dead—whatever dead means—because lately I’ve spent more time with people who are supposedly dead than with people who are supposedly alive. Yet I’ve never felt so alive as I have among the dead and undead.”

  “This is getting creepy and convoluted,” Natalie said. She ambled over to her new Gruncle Derek and smiled sweetly. “You can hold me again, if you’d like.” New Gruncle Derek lifted Natalie up in his arms and said, “Guess I was pretty rough on ya while I was under the red-eye spell?”

  Natalie smiled wickedly. “I think I was rougher on you. I threw a bucket of pee in your face.” Derek’s teeth almost fell out of his mouth.

  “My beloved brother liberated me by offering himself in my stead to the Enchanter,” Bobby Gramps interrupted. “The bastard was happy to oblige. I tried to stop Derek, but he wouldn’t listen. And me, being a second born—I couldn’t free him. I needed you, Caitlin. Anyway, the clock is ticking. Time for the living hands of a true firstborn Blackshaw to turn the valve on top of that mountain. Now remember, young

  Cait—your sister, Natalie, will be most vulnerable at the summit.”

  “Why?

  “Where you find the most potential for violet light you find equal potential for darkness. That mountain peak is also like a beacon for the Enchanter’s power. Now, I don’t think that bastard will try to make physical contact with her while you’re present. So you’ve got to keep Natalie close by at all times. Perform your task quickly and then hotfoot it outta there.”

  “Hey—how do we even get back home?”

  “The volcano. Through its mouth.”

  “Are you serious? That’s like willfully jumping into the mouth of a fire-breathing dragon.”

  “It’s not a real volcano,” Natalie said. “It’s some kind of world builder. I can’t explain it fully yet, but I do think it can get us home.”

  Praise heaven, a rare miracle: Natalie Fletcher cannot explain something!

  “It will get you home,” Peter Pan said. “I’ve used it myself. Many times. It’ll work. I’ll explain when I meet you at the summit.”

  “I thought you couldn’t fly that high.”

  “The nightingales gave me new wings, my lovely. I think I just might be able to make it.”

  Caitlin exhaled a long breath. There was nothing to really say and zero time left to ponder the family tree or the way back home. There was only one monumental task still to be completed.

  “Those stairs will lead you up the mountain,” Bobby Gramps said, “to the Dipping Pools. Once there, dip seven times to purge the godforsaken ghoul from your blood. Then turn those valves to drain the pools—and drain away that bastard’s power.”

  Caitlin walked over to the foot of the rock stairs. She traced the trail of steps with her eye—all the way up Mount Velarium and into the clouds. She had to lean back so far she almost fell on her butt.

  Caitlin smiled at her gramps, her Uncle Derek, Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Peter Pan. She didn’t want to say goodbye. She just wanted to focus on the task at hand. So she smiled and winked at them. She took Natalie by the hand and they began their journey.

  After climbing up the first few flights of stairs, Natalie stopped. She turned and glanced back at the scene. Caitlin did, too.

  The crowmen were still on their backs, wings spread wide, writhing on the ground in a heightened state of euphoria.

  “They seem so content,” Natalie said with a sigh. “Their dopamine and endorphin levels must be off th
e charts.”

  Caitlin tugged at Natalie. “We need to keep climbing.”

  “Eos would be like that,” Natalie muttered, paying no attention to Caitlin.

  “What did you just say?”

  Natalie shook off the thought. “Nothing. Let’s go, Caity-

  Cakes.”

  Caitlin cast a suspicious, narrow eye at her sister.

  And then both girls began their long ascent up Mount Velarium.

  CHAPTER Forty-Six

  The hard-breathing Fletcher sisters had made it about a third of the way to the summit of the towering geological beast known as Mount Velarium. The stairs they’d been climbing were constructed out of old, worn rocks, hand carved from the serrated mountain itself.

  Like, probably a thousand years ago, Caitlin thought.

  Some steps were narrow and smooth, others chipped and jagged; some sections of the trail were slippery steep, while others rose in a manageable incline. All along the trail, boulders of various sizes served as low railings—though from the looks of most of it, there was no way the “railing” was high enough to prevent anyone from actually tumbling off the mountainside.

  The chorus of nightingales had become a faint, distant lullaby echoing up from the base of the mountain. The melody still seemed celestial and resplendent—and thankfully still audible enough to infuse Caitlin with effulgent sparks of the Green Spectrum. This gave her just enough strength to resist the cold compulsions born of savage hunger.

  Caitlin’s calf and thigh muscles cried out in pain with each step up the rocky slope. Natalie breathed heavily as she huffed her way up the trail. Their pace slowed as the elevation rose and the air thinned out.

  During the last half-hour, the girls had crisscrossed the entirety of the gray mountain face. There was something oddly familiar about it that gnawed at Caitlin.

  It concerned the mountain’s unusual shape and contour. Large sections of granite protruded outward. Other sections arced inward. There were clefts, cloves, and curves—as if it had been hewn by design rather than by nature.

  A heavy rumble interrupted her thoughts.

  Mount Velarium began to quake.

  “What’s happening?” Caitlin asked.

  Natalie shrugged. “If this were the other mountain, that rumbling would suggest an impending volcanic eruption.”

  The stone steps beneath their feet and along the mountain trail began to fracture. The quaking sent jagged chunks rolling into a full-on rockslide, a thundering avalanche of dagger-sharp stone, rock, and rubble.

  Caitlin snatched Natalie by the collar. She hauled her sister beneath a slight overhang to shield them both from the rain of rocks.

  Natalie screamed in pain. A plummeting stone had clipped her on the head. Blood dribbled down over her forehead.

  Caitlin slammed her own eyes shut. She pinched her nostrils and summoned whatever was left of her will to resist.

  “Get rid of the blood—now!” she screamed at her sister. “Rub it into the ground.”

  Caitlin heard Natalie fussing about.

  “I’m wiping it off with my hand now.” There was urgency and fear in Natalie’s tone. She was not stupid. She knew the risk. “Now I’m wiping my hand into the dirt. . . .”

  “Good. Next, rip some fabric from your shirt,” Caitlin instructed. “Tie it like a bandana over the cut to clot the bleeding.”

  The seductive scent of blood snuck past Caitlin’s front line of defenses. It slipped through her fingers into her nostrils and invaded her every cell as if by osmosis, stirring violent hunger.

  “Okay, done,” Natalie said.

  Caitlin opened her eyes. Unplugged her nose. She couldn’t help herself.

  “You look like a dog,” Natalie said, appalled, as Caitlin dropped to her knees to lick the bloody dirt off the ground. She sucked on clods, slurping up the drops of blood that sifted through.

  Caitlin didn’t care. When that metallic tang of blood touched her tongue, she breathed deeper, calmer. It tamed the monster and protected her sibling. If it was degrading to be crawling on all fours and lapping up blood-tinged dirt with her tongue, so be it.

  Then she remembered what Scarecrow had told her about desire. Fill a dark desire and it would be satiated for the moment. But then it would double in size. Which meant she didn’t have much time before her compulsion for flesh and warm blood would be back. There was no telling what she might do.

  They had to get out of that place fast—and summit the mountain.

  Thankfully, the rockslide ended quickly. Caitlin leaned out from under the overhang to survey the damage to the soaring mountain trail. All the stone steps had been pulverized to dust. There was no way up the mountain—and no way down. The sisters were trapped.

  Prickly heat began radiating from the granite. Mount Velarium was warming up!

  Caitlin used her telescopic eye to zoom out wide. . . .

  She surveyed the mountain as if from a distance.

  Her palm smacked over her mouth in dismay. To her horror, she realized that she and Natalie had not been climbing an ordinary mountain.

  “What’s wrong?” her sister asked.

  Shock paralyzed Caitlin.

  Natalie shook her. “I said, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s a head. Oh God, we are climbing a man’s head!”

  “Who’s head?”

  “It almost looks like my therapist—Doctor J. L. Kyle!”

  “You’re delirious!” Natalie said. “Altitude sickness. This isn’t Mount Rushmore.” Natalie suddenly crinkled her brow. “Wait a sec . . . J. L. Kyle, you said?”

  “Uh-huh!”

  Natalie massaged her chin as if the motion could help her brain percolate. “Something odd about his name,” she muttered. She continued mumbling to herself as her eyes roamed over the landscape. Her brows suddenly lifted into orbit. “It’s an anagram!” she shouted. “Doctor J. L. Kyle! It’s the exact same letters as Doctor Jekyll.”

  The hairs on Caitlin’s neck became needles on her skin. The mountain began to darken like night. The granite beneath their feet seemed to be . . . softening. The girls stepped back from the wall. The rock face began to swell, ripple, and wave. Finally it arranged itself into a sort of black curtain.

  “Get me off this mountain!” Natalie cried out in an uncharacteristic display of panic.

  The surface of Mount Velarium had indeed become a flowing black curtain blowing in a whistling wind. The air abruptly settled and the curtain came to rest. The impression of yet another face showed through, contoured underneath, as if someone’s head were beneath it.

  The curtain then began to thicken and solidify and harden back into granite. It silhouetted a new, frightening sculpture of a head—one bearing the face of consummate evil.

  The words fell out of Natalie’s mouth. “Doctor Jekyll and—”

  “Mr. Hyde!” Caitlin said in astonishment.

  This new head boasted beastly sharp cheekbones, a fiendish, crooked nose, deep-set sinister eyes, and the irregular-shaped forehead of a monster.

  Natalie squeezed Caitlin tighter. “This is getting freakier by the moment.”

  “Don’t react to it,” Caitlin said. “The mountain is just trying to scare us.”

  “Chalk one up for the mountain,” Natalie said in a quavering voice.

  The girls remained huddled under the overhang.

  Now what?

  As Caitlin held Natalie tight, she could sniff the blood coursing through her sister’s neck veins.

  Please, no!

  The cravings returned—this time doubly strong.

  As if answering the girls’ prayers, an object abruptly dropped out of the sky. It hung in the air, dangling in front of them.

  Could it be?

  Caitlin and Natalie exchanged wary looks.

  A braided rope.


  A braided rope of blonde hair.

  A braided rope made from silken, golden-blonde hair.

  An expectant smile lit Natalie’s face. “Do you think—”

  “Don’t say it!” Caitlin interrupted. “Words have power.”

  There was no need to inject doubt into the words that left their mouths and tempt fate again. Caitlin pulled Natalie by the arm and led her to the rope. “Twist it around your arms and waist and follow me,” Caitlin instructed.

  The girls fastened the rope around themselves and began to climb. Their feet propelled them up the rock face, their arms pulled them up the rope, bicep and shoulder muscles flexing. Slowly, they began hauling their bodies upward.

  The winds abruptly kicked up. A steady, rising air current produced an updraft, giving Caitlin and Natalie added lift. Then the braided rope began reeling itself in as if attached to a winch, accelerating their ascent even more.

  The girls spidered up the mountain, feet scuttling along the vertical face, trying to keep pace with the lifting winds and the rope as it coiled itself back up. They weren’t so much scaling the mountain as gliding up it.

  “How easy is this?” Natalie exclaimed.

  Caitlin shouted, “I told you to watch your words.”

  Caitlin glanced up warily. Sudden storm clouds appeared out of nowhere and began to churn above them.

  “Figures,” Natalie said regretfully. “We’re heading right into those cumulonimbus clouds.”

  “Cumulo what?”

  “Thunderclouds. Lightning. You know, BOOM-CRACKA-

  BOOM!”

  Caitlin peered down toward the base of the mountain.

  Bobby Gramps, Gruncle Derek, Tin Man, Scarecrow, and the rest of the group were now the size of dots.

  She planted her eye back on the granite wall in front of her. Even at close range, she could detect how grotesque Mr. Hyde’s features were below the veneer of Mount Velarium.

  The most dangerous part of the ascent was quickly approaching—the part where they would have to enter the cyclonic storm clouds and dodge the purple lightning zigzagging inside them.

  Lightning bolts lit up the mountain like strobe lights, followed by booming bursts of thunder that palpated the air.