He doesn’t want us to see his brother lift him into the boat. “It’s cool,” said Sam. “This is an excellent plan B.”
On his bike, Sam began racing against the night sky, racing against time.
Owen was waiting for Sam behind the tree in his yard. Sam would have ridden right past, but Owen waved a flashlight. Good thinking, Sam thought. They’d need a flashlight to search the island. He hadn’t brought any equipment. He’d just jumped onto his bike the first second he could. There was something to that Scout stuff. Owen was always prepared.
“Climb aboard.” Sam waited for Owen to scramble onto the back of his bike. Owen adjusted the gigantic pack on his back. “I brought extra flashlights, a blanket, granola bars, water, and a set of walkie-talkies I built.”
“Good thinking,” said Sam.
“And my inhaler and some antihistamine.”
“Antihistamine?”
“I have asthma and I’m allergic to cats.”
Sam’s heart lightened hearing Owen believed they’d find Pix. He rode off easily. Even with Owen’s equipment, Sam had so much adrenaline pumping through him that it felt like Owen weighed hardly anything at all.
Sam rode his bike along the deserted coastal road. They sailed under the night sky as waves broke against the beach in a steady rhythm against the shoreline.
The sea was quiet, almost smooth, reflecting the moonlight like a dark and sinister crystal ball.
× 15 ×
OUT OF THE FRYING PAN INTO THE FIRE
WHEN SAM AND OWEN reached the wharf, Blake was already sitting in the bobbing boat, gentle waves lapping against its hull. Colton stood shivering, ankle deep in the water, holding the boat. “Stash your bike inside the van,” Colton called to them. “Bring the pet carrying case in the back if we . . . for when we find your cat.”
Sam stashed the bike and Owen grabbed the case. “Whoa!” Owen doubled over as he hauled out the pet carrier. He dropped it on the ground.
Sam gave him a hand carrying it to the boat. “This case looks like it would carry a hundred pound dog.” Blake stowed it as they jumped in.
Sam would row in the front, and Blake would call directions and row in the back. Owen sat in the middle, fiddling with the huge carrying case. “Sorry you don’t have much room,” Colton said, noticing Owen trying to place the gigantic pet case on his lap when it didn’t fit in the boat. He looked at Sam. “Your cat might be freaked going in a rowboat,” he explained, “and that’s the only pet case we had in the basement. We used to have a Rottweiler.”
“Good old Raptor,” Blake said wistfully. “Hey, did I tell you I detected half a dozen slowdown echoes tonight, right around the island?”
“What? That’s . . . incredible . . . ” Owen scratched his head. “I hope my transmitter isn’t creating doppelganger echoes.”
“Did the waves on the spectrogram look identical?” asked Sam. That would mean the echoes were not measuring correctly.
Blake shook his head. “No, I checked for that. So it’s not doppelganger echoes. But they’re all loud.” Blake craned his head over the boat as he stared into the black sea. “Something is out there. I can feel it in my bones.”
“You guys and your crazy theories,” Colton said half-laughingly. But he peered closely at the black and forbidding water as he pushed them off into the still, dark night.
As they rowed toward the island, Sam fought off images of long tentacles pushing through the waves and wrapping around the boat’s hull, tugging it under and into a gaping, tooth-ridden maw. Those echoes can’t be giant squids, he told himself.
Then another picture replaced it, one of a kraken emerging from the water, lurching toward them with moonlight glistening on its long scaly neck. The giant head would lunge at them, its gaping mouth revealing rows of razor-sharp shark teeth.
“Large animals would be bloop echoes, not slowdowns,” Sam muttered to himself.
The hull of the boat scraped against something and someone yelped—maybe it was Sam. Actually, maybe all of them yelped.
“What. Was. That.” Owen sputtered.
Blake dug the oars into the water. There was a metallic clang. Then he pushed off as he steered the boat left. “Weird.” He shook his head slowly.
Sam grabbed Owen’s flashlight and shone it against the water. Something spiny lurked beneath the waves . . . or did it? A series of bubbles shot up, and whatever it was sank deep below the surface.
“Tell me it’s not a squid. Seriously,” Blake said, “or I’m turning around now.”
“Whatever it is, it’s made of metal. Maybe it’s a sunken bridge,” Sam thought suddenly. “Angel Chan said there used to be a suspension bridge to the island that sank.”
“How come it moves up and down?” asked Blake.
“Waves and tides?” Sam shrugged his shoulders.
Owen shook his head. “Maybe, but . . . ”
“Creepy. It’s up to you two. Do you want me to keep rowing or go back?” Blake held his oar just outside the boat.
“What Sam wants,” said Owen.
“Keep going,” Sam said grimly. As he saw it, there was no choice. Pix still needed rescuing. They dug in their oars.
When they reached the rocky shore, Sam and Owen pulled off their shoes and jumped into water so icy that Sam lost all feeling in his toes, which almost made it bearable stepping on the rocks as he waded to shore. He sat the carrying case on the sand and looped a rope around a branch. Sam fiddled with the rope, trying to tie the right knot.
“Allow me,” Owen said between chattering teeth. He deftly made a double sailor’s knot. “I have my Scout’s badge in seamanship,” he added proudly.
Sam rubbed the circulation back into his legs. “Check the walkie-talkies,” he suggested.
Owen swung his pack around and pulled out his walkie-talkie. He switched it on and static filled the air. “Testing, testing. Blake, please come in. Roger.”
More static and Blake cut back. “Ah, yeah, sure. Um, roger.”
“Owen over and out.” There was another burst of static.
That’s when it occurred to Sam that the steady lap of waves and burst of static were the only sounds he could hear. Not the hoot of an owl, the bark of a seal, or even the splash of an otter. He swallowed and stared at the overgrown trail that led to the house. By day this place looked bad enough, but by night it was positively menacing.
It didn’t help that they’d hit that weird object rowing over here. Was it all somehow linked?
“Let’s go,” Sam said before his courage failed him. He held out his hand and Owen passed him a flashlight. They started tentatively along the trail.
“Wait.” Sam held his arm out. He flashed his light near the mound of cat collars. Sitting on top of the pile of cat collars was one with a green and yellow pom-pom.
Sam’s fear evaporated. He and Owen raced down the path, stumbling over tree roots and rocks.
× 16 ×
A MAD SCIENTIST’S LABORATORY
SINISTRUS MANSION LOOMED ahead, dark and sprawling with its foreboding turrets, broken half-hung shutters, and rusted iron railings. The old building would give any haunted mansion in any horror movie a total run for its money.
“I wouldn’t want to visit here even in my nightmares,” whispered Owen.
That twigged a half-memory, but Sam needed to concentrate on the task at hand. “I think there’s some kind of alarm on the door,” he said, remembering his previous visit and the ear-splitting screeching. “Maybe we should try and crawl through a broken window. I noticed one at the side of the house.”
“Crawl through a broken window?” Owen gulped. “Nobody said anything about breaking in . . . or exploring inside that place . . . Do. . . do you believe in ghosts?”
Sam shrugged. He could believe almost anything once he set foot on this island. “I think Pix might be in the house, so that’s where I have to go. You can wait outside if you want.” Sam tripped over a tree root. “But shine the flashlight through the windo
w. I’m going to need all the light I can get.”
“No.” Owen took in a deep breath. “I’ve got your back. Lead on.” His hand trembled as he held the flashlight, and the cone of light bobbed against a tree trunk. But he didn’t back away, which made Sam think Owen also deserved a Scout badge for bravery.
They crossed the overgrown lawn, wet grass, and long weeds swiping at their pant legs, and pushed through blackberry brambles at the side of the house below the gaping, shattered window. A thorn left a nasty scratch on Sam’s hand.
“There’s a really weird smell inside.” Owen held his nose between two fingers.
That was an understatement. An oily odour hung in the air—part sulphurous, making Sam think of a science lab, part rotting seaweed. His heart started racing. Sam held the flashlight between his teeth as he swept away some of the broken glass and boosted himself onto the windowsill. Then he scrambled through the window and tumbled lightly onto the floor. He turned around, took Owen’s flashlight, and then grabbed the shorter boy’s hand and hoisted him up and through the window.
“What a dump.” Owen sneezed.
“Are your allergies picking up a nearby cat?” whispered Sam.
Owen shook his head. “I don’t know because I’m allergic to dust too.” Static snapped inside Owen’s pack. He unzipped it, reached in, and took out his walkie-talkie. “Blake? Come in, Blake. Roger?”
“Blake here, guys. We must have scraped the hull worse than I thought. A little water is seeping into the boat. Not much, but I’d hurry.”
“Is that a roger?” asked Owen.
“Ah, yeah, I mean,” with a sigh, “roger.”
“And roger that, over and out.” Owen shoved the walkie-talkie back in his pack. “You heard Blake, there’s not much time.”
Sam hoped he was right about where Pix was, because there was a lot of island to search with the clock ticking. He moved toward the front of the house, leaving a trail of footprints on the dusty floor. The newspapers by the front door were covered in more clumps of fur, including orange and white fluff. Sam swallowed. His eyes swept the cavernous room.
“Ah-choo!” thundered Owen. “Ah-choo!”
Owen backed up and grabbed a door handle under the staircase to brace himself against his next sneeze. A door pushed open. Sam hurried across the floor and shone the flashlight inside the opening. Steps led into a cellar. Was that another tuft of cat hair? Tentatively, Sam tested the first decrepit-looking wooden step. It felt firm enough. Slowly he crept down the next few stairs.
“Oh, no, we don’t,” Owen whispered behind him. “Haven’t you ever watched a horror movie? People who go down dark staircases never come back.” Another sneeze interrupted.
“C’mon. According to your allergies, we’re close to cats . . . or a mountain of dust.” Before Sam could worry about what might be waiting at the bottom, he hurried down the rest of the staircase.
That’s where it all got strange.
The dark dank cellar ended abruptly. A short precision-cut stone tunnel led to a longer stone-cut staircase and into a huge, deep cavern.
Their flashlights illuminated rock walls and a stone floor that spread beneath Sinistrus Mansion. It might even lead out to sea caves. That would explain why Sam could smell seaweed. It was pungently briny down here. Suddenly Sam remembered that when he’d dropped Owen’s hydrophone off the sea cliff, it had looked like there were caves under the island cliffs.
Stainless steel tables, dangling pendant lamps, and tall metal cabinets were scattered across the cavern floor. Metal shelves lined the walls. The equipment reminded Sam of . . .
“It looks like we stumbled into a mad scientist’s laboratory,” Owen said in a hushed voice.
Exactly. Sam expected to see Frankenstein’s monster lying on one of those tables. He swallowed again. “But it’s all dusty; this place looks like it hasn’t been used in years.”
“Except there.” Owen pointed to several tables shoved against the wall close to the stairs, only a couple of arms’ lengths away. “Those tables, shelves, and cabinet aren’t dusty.” They shone with a silver metallic glint in their flashlight beams. On one table was a large cage covered in a grey moth-eaten blanket.
“There,” Owen stifled a series of sneezes. “Cats.”
Sam ran to the table and then hesitated. When he lifted the blanket, what would he find? “I’m afraid Molly’s cat might be dead.”
“And if you leave the cage covered, your cat’s not alive or dead,” said Owen.
“Huh?”
“Never mind. It’s called Schrödinger’s Cat. We’ve got to hurry, remember. The boat’s leaking.” Owen let out another sneeze.
Sam pulled off the blanket. Four cats lay at the bottom of the cage—one black, one Siamese, one tabby, and one orange and white and fluffy.
“Pix?” Sam put his hand on Molly’s kitty. He was warm. Not dead. The other cats were alive as well, but they’d been drugged or something because they were all in a deep sleep.
“AH-CHOOOOOOO!!!” Owen’s sneeze echoed around the cavern.
Florescent lights on the ceiling buzzed on and a high-pitched screech pierced Sam’s brain. He couldn’t decide if it was outside or inside his head. It didn’t matter. It made his skull rattle like a maraca and his blood curdle. Sam and Owen hoisted the cage. Sam shouted over the screeching in his ears. “Run!”
He didn’t have to tell Owen twice.
They lurched up the stairs at breakneck speed, Sam climbing backwards and pulling the cage, and Owen pushing from behind. By the time they made it through the front door of Sinistrus Mansion a noxious vapour was pouring out of the house. The witch-green fog wove itself around the mansion and up into the trees. It was sour and acidic, and one whiff made it seem like two hearts were pounding in Sam’s chest.
“Here.” Owen pulled a rope from his pack tied it to the c age so they could tow the heavy c age like a s led. “Whaaaa . . . whaaat’s that?”
Owen pointed wildly to a large pine tree’s swooping branches. Then he reached into his pocket, grabbed his inhaler, and sucked in several deep breaths.
Sam shone his flashlight. Among the shadowy branches perched two white owls. There was something very wrong with those owls. They were large. Bigger than a turkey. That wasn’t the peculiar part, though.
The owls didn’t stay the same shape: their lines sharpened and then distorted as if they were behind a camera lens Sam was trying to focus. And their eyes! Black pits of gaping horror stared at Sam. His heart pounded more against his rib cage. Molly’s ghosts, he thought. This is what she saw. Owen screamed. Or maybe it was Sam. He couldn’t tell.
The boys pounded the ground as they raced back to the boat, unmindful of the tearing branches, tree roots, and shrubs in their way. Sweat poured down Sam’s forehead, getting in his eyes as he dragged the cage behind him. As they broke through the brush and the ground beneath them turned soft and sandy, some of Sam’s terror subsided.
Owen gasped for air and Sam waited for him to catch his breath. Once more Owen tugged at his inhaler. “Okay, I’m good to go.”
“What do you think that was?” Sam said carefully. “Not owls.”
“You know, I’m thinking maybe something in those lab gases created a fog that made us hallucinate,” said Owen. “Remember the peculiar odour?”
That made sense. They got confused because of the fog. Or maybe the fog distorted the owls. Sam’s pulse stopped pounding in his brain as they broke through the scrub and climbed down to the sandy shore.
Blake’s boat bobbed softly against the glassy water. The moon shone brightly, making everything look safer. Owen had untied the rope and begun wading into the water. “C’mon, Sam.”
Pix would be okay; they’d get him checked out in the pet hospital. But still, what kind of person would steal people’s cats and take them to the mansion for some kind of experiment? Who could do such a terrible thing?
Sam took a deep breath. He placed the cage down for a second next to the pile
of abandoned cat collars and wiped his face. He reached over to grab Pix’s green and yellow pom-pommed collar.
There, sparkling in the moonlight, caught on a branch was what at first looked like a Christmas ornament. Sam reached out and picked the shiny chain off the branch. It was a silver charm bracelet with silver hearts and ruby stones.
Khallie’s bracelet!
× 17 ×
KHALLIE SARAN IS HIDING SOMETHING
WHAT WAS KHALLIE’S bracelet doing on the island? That thought rolled over and over in Sam’s head as he rowed with Blake and Croaker’s Island receded into the night. He wanted to show the bracelet to Khallie and ask her how she’d lost it before he mentioned it to anyone else.
Blake had stuffed an extra life jacket against a hair-thin crack in the fibreglass hull. “Colton’s gonna kill me for this,” he said gesturing to the leak. “And if we sink before we reach the shore, he’ll kill me twice.”
Owen used a small bucket to scoop water out as fast as it made it back in. Blake shouted for Sam to bear starboard to avoid the area that had scraped the hull. When they reached the shore, Blake tossed the rope to Colton and he pulled them onto the beach. Blake quickly started explaining the leak. He was right. Colton wasn’t pleased.
“How could you not come straight back?” Colton shouted. “You’re not stupid. Or I thought you weren’t. You know how dangerous that was.”
“I didn’t notice the leak until Sam and Owen were on the island. Was I just supposed to leave them there?”
“No, you should have called them back and returned right away. I’m not Mom and Dad who let you get away with murder. I should kick your. . . ”
While they argued, Sam opened the cage and checked on the cats.
“You might want to keep that lid closed,” suggested Owen. “It won’t be fun wrangling four terrified cats if they wake up and leap out of the cage.” He stifled a sneeze.
As Sam closed the cage, Pix snored and rolled over. The back of Pix’s neck had been shaved, and there were three deep scratches. He’d seen those kind of scratches before. He leaned over and pulled what looked like a tiny black tick poking out of one of the scratches. He knew a tick could burrow deeper, but when he flicked it with his nail, it had come out easily. Then he noticed the other cats had the same marks. He checked their skin and found they each had a tick. When Sam had removed the last tick, Pix and the black cat started squawking in an irritating whine. Sam gently closed the lid. “Sorry, guys. You’d better stay locked tight. It’s for the best right now.”
The Mystery of Croaker's Island Page 7