Drum, the Doll, and the Zombie

by John Bellairs

  "Who?" asked Professor Childermass, sounding bewildered.

  "The woman in black! The bride of the devil! She flies through the midnight air like contagion! Roderick, help me! She's behind the boy! She's after my soul!"

  Johnny yelled in alarm as Dr. Coote tried to leap out of bed. The effort was too much for the old man. He fell back heavily, in a dead faint. Professor Childermass tried to wrestle his falling body onto the bed, so he would not hit the floor.

  Johnny could not help looking over his shoulder. For a second time he felt ice in his veins. Down at the end of the hall stood a squat, toadlike figure. It was an ancient woman, broad and heavy, wearing a black dress and a black scarf from which straggled long, tangled gray hair. Her ugly, wide-mouthed face held a leer of malevolent triumph. Before Johnny could cry out, she whirled and pushed her way through the door at the end of the hall. Then two nurses came running in, and Johnny had no chance to tell the professor what he had seen.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Not long after Johnny saw the terrible woman in black, Dr. Coote revived for just a few moments. He clutched at the professor's arms and said hoarsely, "The spirit sleeps under running water. The loas rest at the bottoms of rivers for a whole year, and they can harm no one, and no one can harm them!" Dr. Coote gave a ghastly laugh. "I've fooled her, or else she would have killed me by now. Cut the cord, Roderick. For God's sake, find the doll. And don't let them cut your hair! It's voudon, I tell you! The serpent and the Baron and the walking dead!" Johnny, standing ignored at the foot of the bed, shivered to hear such babbling. A heavy, gray-haired doctor came in and gave Dr. Coote an injection. Little by little the old man calmed down and fell into a deep sleep. The doctor ordered the professor and Johnny out of the room, and for once the professor gave up without much of a protest.

  After about ten or fifteen minutes, the doctor found them in the waiting room. "He will sleep all night now," he said. "So you two might as well go home. Are you family, by any chance?"

  "No. Friends," said Professor Childermass, and he explained that Dr. Coote had no close family nearby. He added, "Johnny and I will be staying in Charley's house for the next two nights. I have a spare key. You can reach us there if you need to get in touch."

  The doctor nodded, and the professor and Johnny left the hospital. By now night had fallen, and with it had come a distinct chill. They hurried to the Pontiac, and the professor screeched the tires as he pulled out of the hospital parking lot. "As soon as the engine warms up, I'll switch on the heater," he said. "It's about ten miles to Charley's house."

  "Professor, I think I saw the woman who scared Dr. Coote," Johnny said. He described the haggy old woman he had glimpsed at the end of the hall.

  Professor Childermass snorted. "Probably a cleaning lady, from your description. I have noticed that hospitals are particularly apt to hire the most insanitary-looking individuals for cleaning and food preparation. I wouldn't worry about witches if I were you. It's more likely that poor Charley has just had a nervous collapse from an unhealthy preoccupation with that dratted drum. If I can find the wretched thing, I shall take a hatchet to it."

  They drove toward Durham on Route 4, past the barnyard smell of the university dairy, through the university itself, and at last into the driveway of Dr. Coote's old Victorian house on Pierce Street. It was two stories tall, with weathered clapboard walls, a mansard roof with three dormers, and a two-car garage. Johnny opened the garage door and the professor managed to maneuver the Pontiac into the garage without knocking any major parts off the car or the house or Dr. Coote's old blue Chevrolet. A locked door led from the garage into the house, but since the professor had only a key to the front door, they closed the garage and went to the front of the house.

  For a few moments the professor fumbled with the key and swore under his breath because it was too dark for him to see the keyhole. Then he turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. He felt around on the wall for a light switch and clicked it on. Dr. Coote had lived all alone for years, but he was a fussy old man who liked everything just so, and the house normally was neat and orderly. Normally—but not now. Johnny gasped. The hall closet stood open, and coats, hats, and umbrellas lay scattered on the floor. Professor Childermass cursed and strode into the chilly house.

  Someone had gone through every room, pulling things down, strewing books and photographs of Dr. Coote's field trips all over the house. "What happened?" Johnny asked.

  "Obviously, vandals have broken in," growled the old man.

  "Professor, do you think they might have been—well, looking for something? Like the drum?"

  The professor glared at Johnny. "Nonsense! It was probably just a gang of young hooligans ransacking the place. Let me get the furnace started so we won't freeze, and then we'll see about setting this place to rights."

  The furnace was in the basement. The old house had once been heated by coal, but like many other people, Dr. Coote had converted his furnace to burn oil. Professor Childermass checked to make sure it had plenty of fuel, then fired it up. As soon as the furnace was going, he prowled through the basement, which was full of deep black shadows cast by a single bare bulb. "Aha!" he said, pausing before what had once been the coal bin. "Just as I thought."

  "What is it?" Johnny asked, coming up behind him.

  "Here is where the pests got in. See how the door to the coal chute is ajar? Well, we'll soon put an end to that." He went upstairs and came down again in a few minutes with a hammer and a handful of long nails. He drove these into the coal-chute door, and soon he had sealed it shut. "Now let's clean up a little, and then we'll see about having some dinner. I'm famished."

  They could do very little with the downstairs part of the house that evening, but the professor did tidy up Dr. Coote's bedroom, where even the sheets had been torn off the bed. He patiently picked up shirts and trousers from the floor and hung them in the closet. He matched scattered shoes into pairs and placed them on a shoe tree, and he replaced stacks of paper, pens, and books on Dr. Coote's desk. Meanwhile, Johnny cleaned up the guest bedroom across the hall. The mess there was not as bad, and he finished before the professor did. He came back in just as the professor patted the last wrinkles out of the remade bed. Johnny heard a trickle of water. "Is someone in the bathroom?" he asked nervously.

  "No," said Professor Childermass. "It's just Charley's ancient plumbing. The toilet is dribbling, and I wouldn't know how to begin repairing it. I'd hate to have his water bill!" He pulled his pocketwatch out. "It's almost seven-thirty, and I'm starving. There's a small restaurant not far from here that serves a good hamburger. I suggest we go there for dinner, and then tomorrow we'll repair the rest of the damage to Charley's house."

  Something had been bothering Johnny. He bit his lip, and then he said, "Professor, don't you think we should call the cops? Aren't you supposed to report burglars?"

  Professor Childermass clicked his watch shut. "Knowing the quality of the police around here, I wouldn't dream of reporting this to them," he said. "Why, they have frequently given me traffic tickets that I certainly did not deserve! No, I think we've got matters under control now."

  They drove to the restaurant, which was full of university students, many of them wearing goofy-looking blue-and-white freshman beanies. The crowd was noisy and cheerful, and the hamburgers were indeed very tasty. That evening the professor slept in Dr. Coote's bedroom, while Johnny stayed across the hall in the guest room. It took a long time for Johnny to fall asleep. When he did, he kept waking up after uneasy dreams of the drum and the symbols on it: The white skull and the red drop of blood were especially prominent. But most of all, he dreamed of the repulsive old woman. He would wake, fall asleep, and dream again. Sometimes he dreamed that he came home from school and went into the kitchen, and when Gramma turned around from the stove, she had the horrible old woman's leering face. Other times he dreamed that he was at the Halloween party, and the old woman was there. When the time came for everyone to unmask, she too
k off her face, eyes and nose and all, and revealed a living, grinning skull beneath. Johnny got very little sleep that night.

  When Professor Childermass called the hospital early the next morning, he was told Dr. Coote was still sleeping, so the professor said that he and Johnny would visit that afternoon. After he hung up the phone, the professor said, "Help me set the kitchen straight, and I'll scare up breakfast. We may as well use Charley's provisions as let them spoil in the refrigerator." After considerable tidying, the two settled down to a breakfast of eggs, pancakes, and hot cocoa. That fortified them for a long morning of replacing all the items the vandals had pulled down. Oddly, nothing was broken. Not a dish, not a picture, not a mirror. Everything merely lay in confusion on the floors, and picking it all up took hours. They left for the hospital in early afternoon, stopped for a quick lunch at a diner, and arrived just in time to see young Todd Lamort coming out of Dr. Coote's room. "How is he today?" asked Professor Childermass.

  Lamort looked startled to see them, but he quickly recovered and said, "Uh—about the same, I'm afraid. I have to study for an exam, so I'm leaving now. Be sure to call if there is anything I can do."

  "Wait a second," said Professor Childermass. "Now that you mention it—I suppose you are renting a place to live?"

  Lamort looked puzzled. "Yes, that's right. I am renting an old farmhouse. It isn't fancy, but it is close to the campus."

  "May I ask you to consider staying in Dr. Coote's house for a while? Johnny and I were there last night, and we saw some signs of interlopers. I think it would be good to keep the house occupied. You could stand guard, and in return live there rent free. I'm sure Charley wouldn't mind."

  Lamort licked his lips. "Uh, thanks. That's very kind. I'll think it over. Call me before you leave town, and we'll settle the matter. I really have to go now—I've got some studying to do."

  Professor Childermass watched the young man hurry away. "If only we had more like him," he said with a sigh. "Come on, John Michael. Let's see how our friend is doing today."

  Dr. Coote was somewhat better, but not much. He was awake, but his conversation was disjointed and rambling, as if he could not focus his mind on any one thing. He muttered about the Priests of the Midnight Blood, about someone trying to steal his soul, about other frightening matters. To Johnny it all made very little sense. Every now and then the old man would give that terrible chuckle and rave about a running stream and about trapping a spirit. "No communication there, you know," he said with a wink at them. "Keep an Invisible in the dark long enough, and it turns on its master. The tyrant must fall. And the Baron defeats even the proudest of tyrants. The drum, the drum. He was a rebel, you know, in New Orleans. She did him in, the crone who flies in the night. Lost, lost!" And he would sob in a heartbroken way.

  Johnny felt terrible. The same doctor they had seen the night before looked in around four thirty. Dr. Coote lay semiconscious and delirious, mumbling words too softly for anyone to make out. "No improvement since yesterday," said the doctor with a sigh. He appeared to be honestly concerned. He had a square jaw, close-cut gray hair, and a brushy gray mustache. He stroked his mustache as he nodded at Johnny and the professor. "I wish I had better news for you, but your friend Dr. Coote has been in this state since I first saw him on Monday. And we can't seem to come up with a diagnosis."

  For a short time he talked with the professor and Johnny, and then he left. When visiting hours ended, the professor and Johnny drove back to Durham, where they ate at another restaurant before returning to Dr. Coote's house. Professor Childermass took the lead in going inside, as if he half expected more intruders. None materialized, and he and Johnny spent some time in the living room watching westerns on television. They decided to turn in early. Both were in bed by nine thirty.

  Exhausted from the excitement of the previous night and the cleaning and picking up of the day, Johnny fell asleep almost at once. This time he did not have any terrible dreams, and he slept soundly until well past three o'clock in the morning. Suddenly, though, he woke up, sure he had heard a noise. He lay awake in bed, straining his ears. He could hear the house creaking, the way all old houses do. He could even hear the faraway tinkle of water running in the leaky toilet in the bathroom across the hall. But he could not hear anything that sounded odd or threatening. Still, he thought, he had better check it out. He got out of bed, put on his glasses and slippers, and pulled his apple-green terrycloth bathrobe around him. He crept softly downstairs, feeling nervous. Johnny was a timid and cautious boy, and normally he would never venture into danger. However, he had spent the night at Dr. Coote's house a couple of times before, and it was familiar to him. Besides, he had not heard anything that sounded dangerous.

  He patrolled the washroom, kitchen, study, living room, and dining room. Nothing there. Doors all locked tight. He was about to go upstairs again when he realized he had not checked the cellar door in the kitchen. He went there and turned the knob of the cellar door. To his surprise the door swung open, though he was almost certain that the professor had locked it after lighting the furnace. Johnny hesitated to go inside the cellar because he remembered that the only light down there was a bare hanging bulb. He did not want to stumble around in the dark, trying to find it.

  Just as he decided that he had better go back upstairs and wake the professor, he heard something. A creak, stealthy and quiet, coming from the darkness of the cellar stairs. Johnny backed away. A dark figure moved in the blackness inside the cellar door. Johnny opened his mouth to shout a warning.

  Someone lurched into the room, and the warning froze like ice in Johnny's throat.

  A man had staggered out of the cellar. His hair was black, and his face white and bloodless, as if made of marble. His cheeks were sunken, his lips purple and pulled back from yellow teeth. But his eyes . . . they were the worst of all. They were filmed and blind, the cloudy color of light-blue chalk. Rimmed with fine black dirt, the eyes stared sightlessly straight ahead. He wore a black suit, and he thrust his arms before him, like someone sleepwalking. The appearance of anyone from that dark cellar would have shocked Johnny, but this man terrified him. This man was dead.

  The figure shambled forward, reaching for Johnny. Johnny finally screamed and turned to run. Too late! He felt a dead hand close on the back of his robe. The zombie held Johnny in an unearthly grip.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Johnny's scream woke Professor Childermass from a sound sleep. The professor fumbled for his glasses, but he could not even find the bedside table. Then he remembered that he was not in his own home, and Dr. Coote's table was on the opposite side of the bed. The professor found the lamp, switched it on, and grabbed his glasses just as he heard Johnny scream again. "What in the name of heaven?" mumbled the old man as he tugged on his trousers and shoved his feet into his slippers. He ran downstairs.

  The kitchen was empty, but the cellar door stood ajar. Just as the professor reached the door, he heard a long shuddery screech of nails. Someone was breaking in! Professor Childermass looked wildly around the kitchen for a weapon. A large cast-iron frying pan was hanging on the wall. He snatched it and hurried to the cellar door. Professor Childermass blundered down the cellar stairs, the frying pan held in his right hand, his right elbow bent and ready to strike. He flailed about with his left hand, hunting the chain hanging from the lightbulb.

  A louder screech came from the coal chute. And another sound too: Johnny's muffled whimpering, as if someone had clamped a hand over the boy's mouth. Just then the professor finally found the lightbulb and jerked the chain. Yellow light flooded the cellar. Long black shadows danced crazily as the bulb swung back and forth on its wire. And in the sudden glare, Professor Childermass saw someone squirm up through the coal-chute opening. All he could see were long, thin legs clad in black trousers—and a couple of pale bare feet. "Johnny!" the professor cried. "Are you there?"

  "Yes!" The answering yell was faint because it came from outside. The long legs disappeared as the intruder clim
bed out through the coal chute. The professor realized that he would never fit through the opening, so he turned and ran upstairs and fumbled with the kitchen-door lock. He grabbed his car keys from his pocket as he burst out into the garage. He had a powerful flashlight in the trunk of his Pontiac. He had to set the frying pan down and find the right key, and all the while he was picturing the most awful things happening to his young friend. At last the trunk swung open. The professor switched on the flashlight, and in its beam he saw a much better weapon than a frying pan. He picked up the curved L shape of his tire iron and again ran around to the back.

  A light frost lay on the grass in the backyard. In the glow of his flashlight the professor saw a dark trail that led through the frosty grass back toward the spirea hedge that formed the boundary between Dr. Coote's yard and that of the house behind his. Professor Childermass, shivering from the cold, ran along the track. He squeezed through the stiff branches of the hedge and saw a dark shape ahead of him. It was a tall, thin man, walking heavily and leaning to his left. Under his right arm dangled a shape—a shape that could be Johnny.

  "Stop!" Professor Childermass yelled as he ran forward. "By heaven, sir, stop, or I shall—"

  The thin man turned. The first thing the professor saw gave him a jolt of relief. The intruder carried Johnny with his right arm, and he had his left hand pressed over Johnny's mouth—but Johnny was wriggling and kicking, his green bathrobe fluttering with his struggles. He was alive! Then in the next instant the professor turned the flashlight beam onto the stranger's face and felt sudden terror.

  The man was clearly dead. His eyes had lost all their luster, and his skin had the pallor of death. And yet this creature moved and walked and held Johnny in a viselike grip. With a wild cry the professor leaped forward, swinging the tire iron.