The Mystery of Croaker's Island

by Linda DeMeulemeester

  To John, Alec, and Joey with love

  CONTENTS

  1. A Questionable Quest

  2. Mysteries of the Deep

  3. Nerd Train

  4. Under Her Thumb

  5. Like Out of a Horror Movie

  6. Mars is in Retrograde

  7. Professor Marigold

  8. We’re Not Fighting

  9. Primeval and Dangerous

  10. Something so Wrong About that Place

  11. Zombies and Ghosts

  12. Not Even Bugs or Worms

  13. Only to Step into a Calamity

  14. Racing Against Time

  15. Out of the Frying Pan into the Fire

  16. A Mad Scientist’s Laboratory

  17. Khallie Saran is Hiding Something

  18. Left in the Dust

  19. An Eerie Synchronicity

  20. A House of Cards

  21. Bad Character

  22. Alone in the Universe

  23. We do Have a Problem

  24. The Ticking Clock

  25. Gamma Rays, I Think

  26. Something’s Wrong with Khallie

  27. I’m No Princess

  28. Somebody Screamed

  29. This Can’t Be Good

  30. Too Terrified to Scream

  31. A Terrible Nightmare

  32. We Could Have a Blast

  33. A Beautiful Friendship

  × 1 ×

  A QUESTIONABLE QUEST

  SAM NOVAK FROZE on the spot when the tiny pot-bellied man wearing eye-glasses as thick as pop bottles and carrying a black leather satchel passed him on the street. After the man had scurried by, Sam turned and stared after him. Not because the man was a grown-up who was shorter than he was, or because the man’s face had odd bumps, or even because enormous hairy ears poked out of the man’s white mane—that would be impolite. Sam stared because when the man had passed him, the hair on the nape of Sam’s neck bristled. A chill crept over him as if an Arctic wind had suddenly channelled through Hecate Strait, cut along the coastline, and blasted Sam head-on.

  The man continued to scuttle down the street, kicking up brittle yellow and red leaves that tossed around like a kaleidoscope. Sam blinked twice, shouldered his heavy backpack, and then cut through the high school parking lot. He ran straight into Dory, which was the last thing he wanted.

  Dory was holding court with a group of trendy-looking worshippers who’d fallen under her thrall. Dory had the kind of appearance and confidence that let her soar to the top. If anyone bothered to take a closer look, which in Sam’s experience nobody did, they would notice the sinister twist in her smile and the diabolical arch of her eyebrows.

  “I distinctly said I’d give you a ride home in an hour.” Dory narrowed her green eyes and wound a strand of blond-streaked hair around her finger. “You’re not expecting to hang around here with me, are you?” She didn’t even try to hide the disbelief in her voice.

  Sam’s face burned. “No, I have . . . stuff . . . to do.”

  Then, with not so much as a backward glance, she dismissed him. As Sam walked away, he knew he was meant to hear what followed.

  “Although I find your seaside town, Croaker’s Cove, quaintly charming, mates,” Dory said, “I’m stuck here against my will, suddenly the older sister to a weird little twelve-year-old brother.”

  Little? Weird? Sam straightened his too long, too loosely knit sweater that his grandmother had made for him, and tried to slick back the wayward cowlick in his mop of brown hair. He was sure the single zit that had appeared on his chin that morning glowed like a neon light.

  Dory wasn’t that much older than Sam, only four years, once he turned thirteen in another eight weeks. And technically, he wasn’t 100 percent her brother. She was his half-sister from their dad’s first marriage.

  Dory was the biggest obstacle holding Sam back from what he wanted—a permanent home in Croaker’s Cove.

  After Sam’s mother died, Sam had moved to different countries every year because his father, Captain Jake Novak, travelled with his military work. Then his father would be called away again after a few months, and Sam would end up in one boarding school after another. He hated the wandering life. His father had agreed that Sam and his little sister, Molly, who was just starting school, could both stay with their grandmother on a trial basis for now. This was Sam’s chance for a real home. He could make friends he didn’t have to say goodbye to at the end of the school year. Except . . .

  This arrangement took an unexpected turn when it suddenly included Dory, his older half-sister, a.k.a. the evil witch of the South. What was with Dory’s accent? She’d only lived in Australia for a few months before coming back to Canada.

  Dory’s mother was remarrying and had told Sam and Dory’s father that she was “in the middle of things,” and had asked that Dory stay with them during Australia’s winter school break. Sam’s father thought Dory could live with Sam and Molly for the whole year and help their grandmother.

  Dory was the opposite of helpful, which left Sam in what his babcia called a pickle. Sam knew, as sure as the zit throbbing on his chin, that if he didn’t make this work and prove they could all get along and cause no worries to their grandmother, it would be boarding school again!

  Shake it off, whispered a calm voice in his head—a voice Sam liked to think had been his mother’s. He felt her presence here, as if the constant sea breeze carried her scent. Sam turned down one more street. His stomach began cartwheeling. He climbed the steps up to the huge black door of a sprawling white house and stared at the doorbell, willing his hand to press the button. He hesitated.

  In video and board games, a hero got a quest and it was fun. In real life, being given a quest was nerve-wracking. Sam’s school counsellor, Ms. Dickens, had given Sam this quest.

  She’d tapped Sam on the shoulder and handed him a pile of books, saying, “Blake’s mother asked if the new boy would drop these books off at his home. Blake doesn’t want to see any of his regular friends yet.”

  Ms. Dickens had looked at Sam’s frown and quickly added, “His mother says Blake remembers you from grade two and is looking forward to your visit.”

  Sam didn’t remember Blake, and he doubted Blake had ever noticed him. This was a questionable quest at best. Once more, Sam raised his hand to press the doorbell. Then he glimpsed a flash of metal out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head in surprise.

  The peculiar man he’d passed earlier was standing behind the hedge next door. Sam was sure that the man was purposely hiding behind the thicket of tall shrubs. From his leather satchel, he unwound a long coil of wire and dropped an object shaped like a curved triangle off the steep bluff. Then he took out an electronic device that wasn’t a cellphone or a tablet. The device glinted silver in the sunlight.

  Spotting Sam, the little man quickly dropped the device back into his satchel and disappeared into the shadows of the garden.

  × 2 ×

  MYSTERIES OF THE DEEP

  SAM PEERED AT the bushes, but the strange little man was nowhere to be seen. He shrugged his shoulders and reached for the doorbell. “Hey, wait up!” a voice called from behind.

  Sam turned around. His jaw dropped, but he quickly closed his mouth. Khallie Saran rushed up the brick steps and joined him. When she shot him a nervous smile, her perfect teeth gleamed white. Sam’s hands started to sweat.

  “Hi, Sam. I overheard Ms. Dickens asking you to come here, and I’ve been trying to catch up with you.” Khallie took a deep breath.

  Sam might have no recollection of Blake from before, but he remembered her. Boys had been literally chasing Khallie since preschool. He only used to watch from the sidelines a
s she’d turn her head over her shoulder and laugh as she outraced them all. Even though he was a fast runner, Sam never thought himself worthy of chasing the princess of Seaside Elementary.

  Khallie Saran knew his name?

  “Can I carry some of Blake’s work so it looks like the counsellor sent me with you?” Khallie reached out expectantly. Like a robot, Sam opened his backpack.

  “I’ve wanted to talk to Blake for ages, but his mother keeps saying he’s not seeing visitors.” Khallie rubbed the back of her neck. “Ow, I guess I’ve got a mosquito bite—should there be mosquitoes this late in September? I don’t remember insects buzzing around this long past summer. Is it a mosquito bite?”

  Khallie turned and bent her head, and her black hair tumbled forward like a curtain of silk. Sam leaned over, trying not to breathe on the back of her neck. “I don’t see an insect bite, but you have three deep scratches,” said Sam. The marks looked red and angry. “You should put antiseptic on those.”

  Khallie dropped her hair and turned back. All the while she kept chattering about Blake not returning messages, unaware it was all Sam could do to keep his mouth from gaping and catching flies, not that he’d noticed any insects.

  “I miss him, you know.” Khallie’s bright smile slipped from her face. “We weren’t going out exactly. There’s no way I’d be allowed to date a boy until I’m like forty.” She gave a little laugh and her smile returned. “My parents are super strict.” Her laughter sounded like soft musical bells.

  Khallie reached into Sam’s backpack and yanked out a book. “So is it okay if it looks like I’m bringing him this? So can I come with . . . ?”

  Smile at the girl, came that soft voice. Say something. “Uh, sure,” said Sam.

  Khallie didn’t hesitate when she leaned over to ring the doorbell. They could hear footsteps coming toward the door. Sam suddenly thought, what do I say to a person in Blake’s situation? Not, how are you feeling . . . Not, so what’s new. . .

  The door flew open. A woman dressed like a lawyer or somebody’s boss stood in front of them. But she’s a glass lady, Sam thought, like those porcelain figures in his grandmother’s china cabinet ready to shatter from a sudden noise or the slightest tap. Her eyes widened a little at the sight of Khallie, who shuffled uneasily and then held out the book as if she was presenting a hall pass.

  “Hello, Mrs. Evans. I’m bringing books,” Khallie said. “Like Sam here.” She managed to smile, even though Mrs. Evans wrung her hands in a way that made Sam think she was more nervous than them—which didn’t help how he felt about his quest. Mrs. Evans ushered them inside.

  Sam gazed around. Blake’s house couldn’t look more different than his. There was so much space, and not a smidge of colour—everything dissolved into a haze of white curtains and walls . . .

  The grand home even hushed Khallie’s constant chatter. “Blake, you have visitors,” announced Blake’s mother in a not-quite-there voice. She led Sam and Khallie into the den. Blake sat on a spindle chair. He was pale under his blond hair, making Sam think of an old photograph that had faded. He almost blended into the walls and furniture that surrounded him.

  “Hi. You brought the books?” Blake looked as stiff as his chair. He glanced at Khallie, and something unreadable crossed his face. “Long time no see.”

  “Hello, Blake.” Khallie handed Blake the book, and said with what Sam thought was forced cheerfulness, “I wanted to come so I could tell you that I’m volunteering at the community centre. There’s a new program—basketball for people in . . . ”

  She didn’t finish the sentence. The look on Blake’s face did that for her. “You’re kidding, right?” he said.

  For the first time, Sam noticed Khallie had dark smudges under her eyes. She rubbed the back of her neck again as she shook her head. “Sorry.”

  Ignoring her, Blake pointed at Sam’s backpack. Sam swallowed a lump of spit that had gathered in his throat. It was his turn.

  “Ah, Ms. Dickens suggested that I bring you your library books and for me to ask you if . . . ” Instead of finishing his sentence, Sam brought out the board game he’d stuffed in his pack—Star Trek Canaan. “She . . . thought maybe you’d like to join the gaming club after school.”

  “I don’t want to join the gaming group.” Blake’s face darkened. “Those guys are losers.”

  Playing board games meant wherever Sam moved, he could join a club and make instant friends. Sam hadn’t cared what other people thought—he’d never stayed long enough in one place to worry about those things.

  Maybe Blake didn’t want new friends. But Ms. Dickens had said he hadn’t been interested in seeing his old friends either. Sam didn’t know what to say. Instead, he let his gaze wander and fasten on the shadow in the hall, lurking like an uninvited guest. He turned back and flinched under Khallie’s accusatory gaze.

  “Sorry.” Sam swallowed. “The counsellor said . . .” Sam looked away again. “I thought . . .”

  “Thought what?” Blake challenged.

  “Sorry,” Sam mumbled again.

  Everything Sam said was making this worse. He focused on a bookshelf stacked with gold and silver sports trophies glinting in the sunlit room. When he looked away, he saw Blake was staring at him. Sam’s face heated up and he began to say sorry again, but Blake held up his hand.

  “For the record, there’s no point in you both saying sorry over and over. Sorry doesn’t help.” Blake waved his hand. “Board games didn’t interest me before my skiing accident, so why should they now? I haven’t changed . . . ah.” Blake rubbed his legs, and when he saw Sam and Khallie’s uncomfortable expressions, it was his turn to go red. He dropped his arm. Then he sighed and gestured to the wheelchair in the hallway. “Okay, I guess I’ve changed a little. But this is only temporary.”

  Khallie’s eyes glistened as she bit her lip, probably holding back another “sorry.” Sam didn’t know what to say. Instead, he began hauling out the books he’d brought for Blake.

  Sam hadn’t even looked at the stack of books the counsellor had given him for Blake. “These books are on oceans; that’s my grandmother’s field of study. She works at the Ocean Institute. She could give you lots of information . . . ” Sam flipped over the last book. It would definitely not meet with his babcia’s approval—Unexplained Mysteries of the Deep . . . Sam couldn’t resist checking out the back cover.

  “Don’t tell anyone about these books.” Blake glared at Sam and Khallie. “I don’t want people thinking I’m geeking out. I’ve got a reputation to preserve.” He gave a bitter laugh.

  Khallie nodded. Sam shrugged his shoulders. Even though his grandmother didn’t encourage what she called spooky science, he pointed to the book on ocean mysteries. “I’d like to read that one.”

  Blake levelled Sam with a serious gaze like he was sizing him up. Then he took a breath, reached over to the table beside him, and flipped open an expensive laptop. “I wanted some books on oceanography because I’ve, ah, had some time on my hands.” Blake gazed fiercely at the screen. “So I’ve been following the underwater monitors at the Ocean Institute.” Blake’s face flushed as if he was confessing the most embarrassing thing ever.

  “See anything interesting?” Khallie scratched her neck.

  “Ah, sort of . . . ” Blake tilted his head. “Mostly I’ve been checking the audio feed from hydrophones that they’ve sunk into the ocean trench offshore.”

  “Those are underwater microphones,” Sam added after seeing Khallie’s confused expression.

  “Exactly.” Blake ran his fingers through his hair. “I need someone to help me figure out where this signal’s coming from.”

  Blake spun the laptop around and showed them a screen filled with weird, wiggly lines. Looking at Khallie again, he said, “Spectrograms are visual patterns of sound. The longer the wave lines, the louder the sound.”

  Khallie muttered, “You don’t have to dumb everything down for me.”

  Sam never minded clear and detailed explanati
ons, although because his grandmother was an oceanographer, he knew what spectrograms were.

  But something was wrong with that one.

  Sam shook his head and pointed at the screen. “That can’t be.”

  Blake let out a nervous laugh. “I know. If I’m reading the signal right, it’s a huge sound wave, like from a giant sea monster.”

  × 3 ×

  NERD TRAIN

  GIANT MONSTERS in the ocean—that was crazy talk. But Sam didn’t point that out to Blake. Instead, he studied Blake’s laptop screen and the way the sound waves spiked into a series of jagged points.

  “Even I know that over 95 percent of the oceans are unexplored,” Khallie said, a touch defensively. “And off our coast, the ocean is very deep.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Why wouldn’t there be a giant squid or two?”

  Sam shook his head. “I’ve never heard of giant squids being discovered in the northern hemisphere.” He kept staring at the spectrogram on the screen. Yellow and red curves spiked against a static blue and purple background. Squids or no squids, the spikes showed the recording of a huge underwater noise.

  “Weird, huh?” said Blake. “For all we know it could be echoes from a school of sea monsters.” He laughed again.

  “Or secret military weapons,” mused Sam. “Have you reported this echo to the Ocean Institute yet?” He leaned over until his nose almost touched the laptop screen.

  Blake shook his head. “I’m not reporting anything until I find out more about the signal. I want to make sure I’m not misreading it, so I don’t end up looking like some kind of clown.”

  “Hmm, sea monsters and secret weapons . . . ” Khallie smiled. “Don’t you think you both know too much about weird ocean stuff to be considered normal, anyway?” She was teasing him, but from the way she looked at Blake, Sam figured Blake could say he beamed up to Mars every Saturday night and she’d believe him.

  Sam got that Blake wasn’t in a rush to report this. The signal couldn’t be right. “There are lots of sounds in the ocean, but a sound wave this loud?”

  Khallie rubbed the back of her neck again. “Who’d have thought the ocean was so noisy? I never hear much when I’m underwater.”