The bleak mansion crouched in the criss-crossing shadows like a monster lying in wait. Sam picked his way through the patchy, overgrown lawn. He climbed the front steps, used his jacket sleeve to wipe a thick layer of dust off the window, and gazed inside.
It was murky, and it took a moment for Sam’s eyes to adjust to the dim light. He hadn’t known what he was expecting, but the place was empty. Wallpaper was peeling from the walls in thick scales. The step rails were missing from the spiralling staircase. An old chandelier tilted dangerously from the ceiling. He’d just started to back away when he spotted newspapers spread out on the floor. Small clumps of what looked like fur were scattered on the paper. Odd. What looked like an electric razor sat on the newspaper. He hadn’t expected to see that. He tried the door handle.
A high-pitched screech reverberated inside his head. He thought his eardrums would split. Chills rode up and down his spine and his heart started racing. For the life of him, Sam couldn’t explain how or why, but he was scared to death. He turned and hurried down the steps. He tore across the property and jumped over the half-tipped iron fence and didn’t slow down as he sped across the uneven ground.
As Sam neared the beach, his foot caught and became tangled in a trailing bramble vine, pitching him forward. As he sprawled on his hands and knees, his hand flew out and he brushed against a clump of something leathery. Pulling his arm back, he jumped up. Then he looked down at his feet and let out a sharp gasp.
By his left foot was a huge nest of cat collars.
What had happened to those cats who’d been wearing those collars? He thought of the clumps of fur scattered on those newspapers. An icy lump sat in his stomach.
“Hurry, man, the waves are getting choppy!” Blake shouted from the shore. “A storm’s in the works.”
Sam almost flew back to the boat, then fumbled with the knots and untethered the rope that secured it. He took a deep breath and swallowed, trying to calm his heart. His throat was dry. He yanked off his shoes but didn’t bother rolling up his jeans as he strode into the water; the currents and undertow had grown so strong he almost fell into the crashing surf. Then he tossed in his shoes and leaped into the rowboat, tipping it a little too far port side.
“Careful!” Blake shouted, righting the boat with his oars.
“Sorry,” said Sam, taking another deep breath.
“Are you okay? You’re as pale as a ghost,” said Blake, as he sank the oars into the water and began rowing.
Sam nodded, then turned his head and stared at the retreating island. There was something so wrong about that place.
“Did . . . did you hear any weird noises while I was on the island?” Sam grabbed onto the bench as the waves tossed the boat left and right, making him dizzy.
Blake grunted, “No,” as he fought against the swelling waves. He shook his head. “I should have brought the racing boat, then we could both have rowed.”
Sam noticed sweat beading on Blake’s forehead. He leaned forward and said, “Hand me an oar. We still can.”
“No. I can do this.” Then a wave battered against the boat, leaving a pool of water at their feet. After the prow rose and dipped sharply from another huge swell, Blake handed Sam the oar.
“Just tell me what to do,” said Sam as he dug into the waves.
Blake shouted, “Left, right, double-time,” and “left” again.
Sam used his full body weight against the oar, fighting the treacherous currents as they crossed the breakwater. Waves lashed the side of the boat, and rain poured down, soaking them. The wind and pounding water made Sam’s ears ache, and the salt spray that coated his face and lips made him thirstier. He blocked all that out as he dedicated every thought to the rhythm of rowing, and soon they neared the shore.
“Hurry!” Colton yelled from the shore as a fork of lightning lit the sky, followed immediately by a crack of thunder.
When they were almost back, Blake asked, “So, what did you mean by strange noise?”
“When I cut across the mansion property, I thought I’d check out the place—you know, just look inside a window or see if the front door opened.” Sam suppressed a shudder. “But when I tried the door handle I heard such a loud screech, I thought my head would split.”
“I thought I saw a flash of green light.” Blake kept rowing as he looked over his shoulder. “Maybe it was the approaching storm.”
“Also I saw something really strange, a bunch of cat coll . . . ”
Colton grabbed the boat and hauled them up on the beach. He swore, and then he said, “Sorry, but you guys had me worried. Those waves are high, and the water’s dangerous as it is, and . . . ”
Blake grinned at his brother. “It was the best time I’ve had since . . . ” Then he paused and Colton gave him a sharp look. Blake leaned over and pounded Sam on the shoulder. “Best time ever, maybe.”
Sam had explored a creepy island, almost got scared to death, crossed treacherous breakwater rowing through a storm. . . He surprised himself by saying, “Yeah, me too, best time ever.” He’d had a real adventure—and not the kind you ever got at boarding school or being the odd man out at home with his grandmother and sisters.
“So, when do you want to go back?”
Blake laughed, but Colton shook his head. “Not any time soon,” Colton told them. “I can’t take the worry.”
Blake sat in the boat, waiting for something. Colton gestured at the rain-soaked Sam and said, “Maybe you need a ride back.”
Instinctively, Sam knew Blake didn’t want to be seen being placed in his wheelchair. “It’s not like I can get any wetter.” Before anyone could say anything else, Sam jumped on his bike and rode away.
It was a great bike anyway. As he rode home, though, Croaker’s Island weighed heavily on his mind.
× 11 ×
ZOMBIES AND GHOSTS
EVEN AFTER SAM had dried out and had dinner, he couldn’t get that afternoon’s adventure out of his system. The storm had passed as suddenly as it had appeared, and the night sky was clear. He fiddled with his telescope in the sunroom, turning it toward the island while his grandmother knitted and Molly teased Pix with a string of wool.
“Can I stargaze?” asked Molly. “I tried it today but only saw a bunch of seagulls.”
“It helps if it’s dark,” said Sam.
“That’s a flock of seagulls.” Babcia’s needles clicked as she knitted a very long sweater sleeve.
“Yes, Professor Babcia. Sam, can I look at a flock of stars?” Molly asked solemnly. “Will you show me Polaris and the Big Dipper?”
“How do you know about those stars?” asked Sam.
“Daddy,” Molly said. “He teached me.”
“Taught you, little one,” Babcia smiled over her clicking needles.
Sam had a flash of memory of his mother and father and him on the beach, with his father pointing out stars, saying, “There’s Orion’s Belt, Sammy.” Sam’s throat grew tight. He’d forgotten about those times. His father now seemed as far away to him as those constellations.
Sam pointed through the window. “There’s Polaris right there. You can’t get lost if you can always find the North Star.”
Molly bear-hugged Sam. “When you went away to school every year, I thought you were lost. Now that I can find Polaris, I won’t ever lose you again,” she said.
Babcia looked up from her knitting. Sam patted Molly lightly on the head, and was about to tilt the telescope toward the sky when the phone rang. Babcia went to the kitchen and called out, “Molly, Sam, Dory, it’s your father.”
With a gleeful shout, Molly raced to the phone. Sam followed more slowly. After Molly finished updating their father on her kindergarten teacher and Pix’s antics and had given about twenty kisses goodbye over the phone, she handed the receiver to Sam.
“How’s it going, son?” said his father.
“Good,” said Sam.
“Good? As in how?” pressed his father.
Sam shrugged and realized tha
t his father wouldn’t see that. “It just is,” Sam said.
“Did you make the track team?” asked his father.
“. . . Almost . . . ”
“You know what I always say, Sammy. . . ”
“Get back on the horse,” Sam muttered.
“Maybe try out for basketball. That’s how you meet friends,” said his father.
Sam fiddled with the old-fashioned telephone wire on the landline. A few seconds passed in silence before his dad said, “Good to hear your voice, son. Is Dory there?”
Sam shouted, “Dory, phone!”
Dory sauntered out of her room. “Didn’t you hear Babcia? It’s Dad,” said Sam.
Dory’s lips twitched like she was hiding a smile.
Molly whispered, “Her mother never calls.”
Sam went to get a glass of milk in the kitchen before he returned to the sunroom. Molly was backing away from the telescope. She spun around when she heard his footsteps. She looked up at him with wild eyes. “Sammy,” Molly blinked back tears. “That island out there is scary.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Sam.
“It has zombies and ghosts,” Molly whispered.
Sam tried convincing her it must have been shadows, or maybe moonlight bouncing on the waves, but that night Molly insisted on keeping on the light in the bedroom she shared with Dory. Dory’s complaints rattled down the hallway, causing their grandmother to go into their room twice, and when the arguing continued, Babcia finally allowed Molly to sleep with her.
The clock was ticking, and Sam realized with dread that his grandmother’s patience with this living arrangement was running out.
× × ×
THE DAYS PASSED slowly until the next astronomy class. Sam couldn’t wait to hear if the hydrophone he’d dropped off at Croaker’s Island had shown any spectrogram echoes on Blake’s laptop. He also couldn’t wait to see his friends. He hardly saw Khallie now that he rode the bike instead of the school bus.
Only Babcia wouldn’t allow him to ride the bike at night. Sometimes, Sam suddenly thought, to get what you want, you have to give somebody what they want. He got an idea.
He said to Dory, “Blake might want his brother to take him around at the fall fair next weekend. You could meet Colton. Maybe he’s tired of the usual town girls and looking for someone more . . . Australian.”
“Do you think so?” Dory’s eyes widened.
“I’m not sure what time they’re going, though. If I went to astronomy class, I could ask Blake.”
“Well, hurry and get ready if you want a ride,” said Dory. She flew to the bathroom to fix her makeup.
Sam wasn’t lying. He’d honestly ask Blake about the fair. He doubted Blake would want to go to some lame fair, but that wouldn’t be his fault. Problem solved and Dory was back on board about driving him to the observatory. It was all under control. As long as he dangled the carrot, the horse would pull the cart.
Who would have thought one of Babcia’s sayings would prove useful?
× 12 ×
NOT EVEN BUGS OR WORMS
“HEY, SAM!” KHALLIE called out as she raced across the observatory’s parking lot. “Are you going to the fall fair?” She was out of breath as usual, like she’d hurried everywhere at a breakneck pace. She inhaled the crisp September air and added, “The theme this year is going to be pirates. Dumb, huh?”
Sam was about to agree, but he hesitated because of the excitement in her voice. “Um, are you going?”
Khallie nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’m a sucker for carnivals—the fun games, the food. I even love the cheesy decorations.”
“Yeah, uh, me too,” said Sam.
When Sam and Khallie entered the observatory, Blake was already in his seat beside the huge telescope. Betty and Diane sat in chairs on the other side of the circular room and waved at them. George was a no-show, which was probably for the best. He was nice to Dory but not to anyone else. It was sort of embarrassing how rude he was to Professor Marigold.
Sam joined Blake. “Any new echoes show up on the spectrogram?”
Blake shook his head, looking disappointed. “No. I haven’t recorded any this week.”
“I bet you’ll pick up an echo when we drop the hydrophone I made you off Croaker’s Island!” shouted Owen, who once again came in as if he was running the last lap of a race, almost knocking over the star globe again.
“The underwater microphone’s already been dropped,” said Sam. “We did that on Saturday.”
Owen slammed to a halt. “What?” He shook his head slowly. “Without me? Sam, is that why you never showed up to the gaming tournament you signed up for a couple of weeks ago?”
Sam had forgotten all about the tournament. So much had happened since then. He had new friends. He had a great new bike he’d been riding around all week. Then it hit him.
Blake had said, “It’s probably for the best. The guy tends to blab, right?” So Owen had been purposely left behind. Sam had acted as if he’d agreed, but he didn’t know Blake hadn’t told Owen they were going to the island. Now Owen looked crushed, and Khallie glared at them. Sam felt his face heat up—he hadn’t asked too many questions.
Blake said smoothly, “Dude, I didn’t want you getting in trouble with your parents.”
Sam shrugged his shoulders and said, “We’re not getting any signals anyway. You didn’t miss anything.”
Owen looked away from them for a second, and his throat moved as he swallowed a couple of times. “I guess. But I could have double-checked the transmitter.” He blinked a couple of times. “I could make sure your receiver is working . . . ”
“Sure, sometime,” said Blake. Blake’s answer was kind of vague. Owen seemed satisfied, though, and went to greet Professor Marigold as he arrived at the observatory door.
“You didn’t want Owen getting in trouble? Give me a break,” Khallie fumed.
“It’s not like he’s our frien . . . ” Blake began.
Khallie cut him off. “Don’t be a jerk, Blake. You’re better than that.”
Wow, that was harsh. Sam couldn’t believe Khallie was laying into the guy like that, especially because he was in a wheelch . . .
“You’re right,” Blake sighed. “It’s just that I don’t like him telling people what we’re up to.”
“Are you sure it’s just that?” Khallie fastened her eyes on Sam this time. “And you too, Sam. Shame on you both.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as Owen came back and plopped into a chair at the end of their row. “You can’t just use people,” she hissed.
Professor Marigold stood at the podium, adjusting his lab coat. He fiddled with the projector’s focus as he lit up the observatory ceiling with laser-projected stars.
I’m not using anyone, decided Sam. Nobody told him Owen didn’t know they were dropping the hydrophone. But if he wasn’t doing anything wrong, why did Sam’s stomach feel funny?
“Just so I make this perfectly clear, let us begin once more by discussing the Goldilocks Zone theory about the universe,” began Professor Marigold, “and how it shows the smallest and most teeny-tiny possibility of other life being highly unlikely.”
“But there has to be life somewhere,” said Sam raising his hand. “Even if it’s bugs or worms.”
The professor shook his head. “Think of the universe as a boiling cauldron of particles popping in and out of existence,” he continued. “The gravitational attraction it takes to bring those particles together, the likelihood of gaseous substances solidifying and being brought into the pull of a star at just the right distance,” the professor stopped and took a breath, “with just the right rotation and orbit means the possibility of life is infinitely remote, less than a nail in a haystack.”
Sam shot up his hand again. “That’s ‘needle in a haystack.’ But there are billions of stars and planets. That’s got to increase the odds.”
“With 95 percent of the universe known, the chance of discovering intelligent extraterrestrial life in the rem
aining 5 percent is unlikely,” answered Professor Marigold.
“But, sir, it’s the opposite.” Owen frowned in puzzlement. “Only 5 percent of the universe is known; 95 percent is unknown.”
Khallie raised her hand. “Like in the ocean,” she added.
The professor blinked twice, and then he slowly said, “Why, yes, of course, 95 percent is unknown.” He adjusted the lapels of his lab coat and stood on his tiptoes, craning his head their way. Sam did a double-take. He thought he saw the professor’s large floppy ears twitch. “However, extrapolating from existing data, there can be no life whatsoever, anywhere else, no, not at all, no need to look, no need to transmit messages—no one is out there—not even bugs or worms. There’s no point eating mints out of a molehill.”
“Do you mean making a mountain out of a molehill?” asked Sam.
Owen shook his head slightly. He leaned over to Sam and whispered, “Something isn’t right here.”
Yeah, thought Sam, the guy was terrible at old sayings even though he was from Babcia’s generation. But wait. Owen had a point. Sam’s grandmother was a scientist and cast cold rational logic on things that weren’t proven, and she didn’t make mistakes or pretend she knew everything about the subject.
“Yeah, the guy’s such a buzz-kill,” whispered Blake. “He takes the romance out of the stars.”
As soon as Blake mentioned romance, Khallie swung her head his way. Sam couldn’t help but see the stars in her eyes.
For the rest of the lecture Sam glumly listened as the professor told them they would be viewing lifeless Jupiter’s lifeless moons, Callisto and Europa, from the telescope. The observatory roof dilated, and Khallie shrugged on a snappy woollen blazer. Betty and Diane nodded in approval.
When Sam rushed past the professor to discreetly move Blake’s chair into a better viewing position, he got that weird sensation again—the chill snaking up his spine and the hair bristling on his neck. Yet when he looked over his shoulder, the professor was simply pushing buttons on his desktop to rotate the telescope.
The Mystery of Croaker's Island Page 5