The Endora Trilogy (The Complete Series)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “Okay, mister,” Molly said, signaling for Betsy to follow.

  “You weren’t scared, were you?” he asked while securing the doors.

  “Hardly,” Molly said as she and Betsy scurried off toward the cotton candy booth.

  The man observed them through a pair of ashen gray eyes as they disappeared into the crowd. “Perhaps next time you will be,” he whispered.

  A single light bulb burned dimly above the desktop. The sheriff sat back in the squeaky chair, propped his feet up, then twirled one end of a long mustache around an index finger, grinning confidently. “Boys, expect some law and order from here on in,” he muttered with an exaggerated southern drawl while polishing the star on his vest with the cuff of his sleeve. “I reckon that’d be the smart thing to do.”

  Christopher grunted, trying not to laugh at his friend. “I reckon that hat you’re wearing is too tight, Robert,” he said as he slipped on an oversized black and white striped convict’s costume over his clothes. He adjusted the matching cap on his head of closely cropped light brown hair and grinned. “How do I look?”

  “Like a weird zebra,” his other friend Henry replied. He was similarly dressed as a convict in the mock sheriff’s office on the carnival grounds as they waited to have their pictures taken in the jail cell.

  “Why don’t we stick you in the jail, Robert, and let me and Henry stand outside holding the key,” Christopher suggested.

  “No can do, you hooligan. I’m in charge in this town!” he said, hopping off the chair and clomping about in a pair of extra large boots. “Say, where’d that girl with the camera go?”

  “She stepped out to answer her cell phone.” Henry peeked through one of the windows but couldn’t see her anywhere in the darkness. “Maybe she’s on the side of the building. Probably gabbing with a boyfriend.”

  “Hope not,” Robert said, adjusting his bolo tie and smoothing out his coffee brown vest. “I was thinking of asking her out.”

  Christopher and Henry nearly choked with laughter.

  “She’s probably in college,” Henry guessed. “Why would she want to go out with you? By the way, your mustache is crooked.”

  “I’m getting my driver’s permit next month,” Robert said in his defense while he properly reattached his mustache. “That’ll impress any girl.”

  Christopher smirked. “Sure. That’ll clinch it.”

  Henry sighed. “I’m going to see what’s taking her so long. This costume is starting to itch,” he said, scratching behind his neck. He headed toward the door.

  Robert followed him. “I’ll go with you! We’ll find her faster that way.”

  Henry turned to his friend, trying not to grin. “Robert, she’ll go out with my sister’s pet hamster before she’ll even consider dating you.”

  Christopher waved them on. “I’ll wait here,” he said as they exited the tiny building. He removed his convict’s cap, tossed it on the desk and then paced about the room. His watch read nine forty-five. Where had that girl gone?

  He plopped down on the desk chair and leaned back with his hands behind his head, satisfied that he was one up on Robert in that he had already obtained his driver’s permit last month. Christopher wondered if that would impress the camera girl. Yet for all the freedom that driving allowed him, it couldn’t compare to traveling across the Endoran plains on horseback to rescue Princess Rosalind from captivity. But that trek had almost been for nothing after they were tossed into Malaban’s vault far below the castle. Now that was a jail, Christopher concluded. Nothing like the tiny barred cell in this place. Luckily Mr. Smithers had tagged along and saved the day.

  Christopher jumped up when he noticed a small window in the jail cell. He stepped inside and climbed on a wooden stool in one corner, peering out the dusty glass pane. The empty field behind the carnival grounds stretched on into the black of night underneath a canopy of bright white stars, another reminder of his time spent in Endora. Christopher’s imagination swept him away to that faraway place as it had done on so many occasions. Suddenly a shadow moved just outside the window. Christopher flinched, thinking somebody was hiding behind the small building. Or was his imagination playing tricks on him? He wasn’t sure as he looked again, unaware that the front door had opened behind him. Neither did he hear the footsteps that slowly approached nor see the hand that carried a large black iron key to the jail cell door.

  Swiftly and silently the barred door was swung shut, the key inserted into the lock and turned, and then–CLICK!

  “I finally have you,” a voice whispered, startling Christopher from his daydream. “You’re my prisoner and there’s no escape!”

  Christopher spun around and jumped off the stool. “Huh? What?” His thoughts were a thousand miles away.

  “Earth to convict! You weren’t napping in there while I stepped out, were you?”

  Christopher shook his head and sheepishly smiled. “No, just thinking. My friends went looking for you.” He grabbed hold of the jail cell bars.

  “Don’t worry. You’re not trapped. I was just teasing you,” the girl said, pulling the cell door open. “The lock doesn’t even work. It’s just for show.”

  “I could have busted out easily enough,” he said, pointing a thumb across his shoulder. “How many jails have an unbarred window in them?”

  “Good point.” The girl flashed a smile and set her cell phone and digital camera on the desk before adjusting a barrette in her stringy red hair. The words CARNIVAL STAFF were printed on the back of her shirt in bold black letters. “Sorry I took so long to get back. It was an important call. My grandfather’s been in the hospital and my mother called to say he’s doing much better. Probably going home next week.”

  “Great news,” he said.

  “I feel better now after worrying for days that he might not make it.” She blinked a few times. “Easy to take your family for granted until something like this happens.”

  “I know what you mean.” Christopher grinned. “A family can seem off the wall at times, but it’s nice to have them around.”

  She smiled. “Now where are your two friends? If you want three photos matted and framed, it’ll be at least twenty minutes. We stop taking orders at ten-thirty.”

  “I’ll round them up.” Christopher headed toward the door. “Oh, so that means you weren’t talking to your bo…”

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” he replied, opening the door and leaning on the knob. “Uh, by the way, I have my driver’s permit,” he casually added, making his voice sound deeper.

  “Oh. Good. That’s terrific,” she said, concealing a tiny grin as she checked the settings on her camera.

  Christopher turned two shades of red. “Yeah, well… Back in a minute.” He cleared his throat and scrambled out the door, shaking his head as he muttered, vowing to punch his friend Robert in the arm as soon as he laid his hands on him. As he shot past, a figure emerged from the shadows on the side of the building, its ashen gray eyes following the boy as he drifted through the carnival crowd.

  “Fifty doughnuts should be just about right,” Vergil sleepily said as he leaned against his father while they stood outside the baked goods trailer.

  “How about a half dozen of those huge chocolate covered butterscotch brownies,” his mother suggested. “We can enjoy them on the back porch when we get home.”

  “I’m all for that!” Molly said, furiously clicking a penlight she had won earlier at one of the game booths. It flashed a bright ice blue color. Her friend Betsy had left a while ago with her parents. “Where’s Chris?”

  “He’s going to walk home with Henry and Robert,” her father said, sitting down on a nearby bench and plopping his son on his lap. “Vergil, I don’t think you’ll even stay awake for brownies.”

  “Bet I will…” he mumbled, unable to suppress a yawn. Distant voices of carnival goers and the monotonous drone of the amusement rides nearly lulled him to sleep.

  Molly scowled. “How come Chris gets to
walk home with his friends but I have to get carted around by my parents?”

  “Because your brother is older,” Mrs. Jordan said, fishing for money in her purse.

  “Whoop-de-do!” she softly muttered. “I can climb down a castle wall hanging from a ratty old blanket, but I can’t walk a mile home at night.”

  “One and a half miles. Oh, and no more climbing down castle walls either,” her mother replied matter-of-factly, still searching through her purse.

  Molly sighed. “Whatever…”

  Molly and her mother moved up to the window just after the last of the butterscotch brownies had been purchased by the previous customer. Mr. Jordan remained seated with his son.

  “Fresh batch coming up shortly,” someone inside the trailer said after Mrs. Jordan placed her order.

  One of the bakers brushed a thick layer of double chocolate icing over a warm batch of brownies on a back counter, apologizing for the delay. Molly assured the red cheeked women wearing a white paper cap that she didn’t mind. Molly giggled to herself, noting the resemblance the lady had to Mrs. Rudkin who worked in the main kitchen in King Jeremiah’s castle.

  She nudged closer to her mother and stood on her tiptoes hoping to get a better glimpse of the brownie-frosting process, but was disappointed to see only a counter crowded with pre-formed bakery boxes, piles of white napkins and a small television to keep the workers entertained when sales were slow. The glowing TV screen currently showed a repeat of that afternoon’s edition of BIG SCREEN BUZZ with host Eve Eloise. The low volume competed with the busy kitchen voices.

  “They can’t move any faster, Molly, even with your nose pressed to the screen.”

  “I know, Mom, but I’m famished! At least for brownies anyway.”

  “Me too!” her mother whispered with a playful grin, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You can watch the TV to keep yourself occupied.”

  “Bor–ing,” Molly said, smelling the chocolate wafting through the sweet July air. But her eyes settled on the television anyway and she listened halfheartedly with her mother as Eve Eloise continued her weeklong interview with actor Elvin L. Cooper.

  “And is it true, Elvin, that you may show up at various theaters across the country unannounced to promote your new movie?”

  “Anything is possible, Eve. I have a lot of years to make up for with my fans.”

  “Another whoop-de-do,” Molly said with a click of her tongue.

  “I’ll say. They’ll congregate around you like moths circling a flame.”

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  “Some people have way too much ego and not enough space to store it,” Mrs. Jordan said dryly.

  “And why this sudden change, Elvin? What has happened to that old quiet and shy personality of yours? Where did it go?”

  “Oh, I still have it, Eve. But I have it folded away like an old shirt in the bottom dresser drawer.”

  Molly turned her head and eagerly watched as one of the other bakers took the frosted tray of brownies and deftly sliced the batch into large perfect squares.

  “I have it stored behind glass like a dusty old trophy!”

  Mrs. Jordan looked up as the tray was carefully slid into the display rack in front for everyone to see.

  “I have it caught like a helpless mouse in a hawk’s iron grip! And I won’t–let–go!”

  Molly and her mother swiftly turned their heads and locked gazes. A simultaneous chill ran up and down their spines. For an instant, the warmth of this young summer evening felt as bitter and dreary as a rainy autumn night.

  “And I don’t think this audience wants you to let it go, Elvin. They’re going crazy for the new you! What a treat for us all!”

  Molly’s heart pounded when hearing those jaw-dropping words. “Did that man just say what I think he said, Mom?”

  Mrs. Jordan nodded. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” She glanced at the television, studied the smiling and animated Elvin L. Cooper, and then turned again to her daughter. “I heard those exact words once before.”

  “Me too,” Molly softly said. “About eight months ago on the coronation platform outside of King Jeremiah’s castle.”

  Molly and her mother both recalled those horribly intense moments they had witnessed when Belthasar had taken over the mind, body and soul of Prince Jeremiah. He had uttered those very words to Princess Rosalind, who at that moment was trying to prevent her fiancé from sacrificing his own life to save his future kingdom. Solárin and its people were finally rescued from the scourge of Belthasar, but his malicious spirit had mysteriously escaped in the end. But to where, no one could say. Until now.

  “That has to be him, Molly. Here! In our world.”

  “But how could it be?”

  At that moment a lady in the trailer handed Mrs. Jordan a box with a half dozen freshly baked frosted butterscotch brownies along with a few napkins tossed on top. Mrs. Jordan hastily paid for the items and then sat down next to her husband and Vergil. Molly squatted in front of them as they huddled together to explain the news.

  “What’s going on?” Mr. Jordan asked, stunned beyond belief after he heard the details. “Are you sure it was the exact sentence you heard at the coronation?”

  “Word for word,” Mrs. Jordan assured him. “Caught like a helpless mouse in a hawk’s iron grip! And I won’t–let–go!” She sighed in disbelief. “Molly and I were both there on the platform. Only at that time Belthasar was referring to Prince Jeremiah and not Cooper’s shy personality. When he repeated the phrase on television a moment ago, we both knew in an instant that Elvin L. Cooper was Belthasar.”

  “But taking over an actor? Why would Belthasar do that? And how did he get into our world in the first place?”

  All were questions everyone wanted immediate answers to, but knew that none would be forthcoming any time soon.

  “Hey, what’s up?” a voice in the darkness called out. Christopher, Henry and Robert emerged from the shadows, dressed once again in their street clothes and proudly showing off the framed photographs of themselves in the jail cell. “What’d you buy?”

  “Butterscotch brownies,” Mrs. Jordan replied. “And as long as you’re here, Christopher, I think you should come home with us.”

  “Now? It’s not even eleven o’clock. I was going to walk home with these guys,” he said, indicating Henry and Robert.

  “We’ll give them a lift back,” Mr. Jordan added as he stood up, Vergil still clinging tiredly to his side. “Something’s come up and we need to go home.”

  Christopher frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “A family matter,” his mother said, trying to put a cheerful spin on the matter. But deep inside, she dreaded what the days ahead might bring. Like an unlucky penny, Belthasar had turned up again and she hadn’t the slightest idea what to do about it.

  “Aww, don’t make me leave yet!”

  “Yeah, we’ve hardly finished stuffing our faces, Mrs. Jordan,” Henry pleaded.

  Molly grabbed a napkin from the bundle her mother held and scribbled a few words on it with her penlight as Christopher tried to persuade his parents to let him stay. She folded it once and handed it to Christopher, glaring at him with a pair of steely eyes.

  “You’ll have all day tomorrow to hang out with your friends, Christopher,” his mother promised.

  Christopher took the note from Molly and hurriedly glanced at what she had written. “But you said I could–”

  He flinched slightly when the words on the napkin registered in his brain. He reread them several times. Those three tiny words–Belthasar is here!–nearly took his breath away. He crumpled up the napkin and shoved it in his pocket, staring at his parents with apprehension. He looked sideways at Molly, raising an eyebrow.

  “Oh, I remember now!” Christopher awkwardly exclaimed, snapping his fingers and nodding apologetically to his friends. “That’s right, guys. We’re supposed to, um–visit my Uncle George early tomorrow morning. It’s a long drive. An
d we promised. Honest.”

  Molly turned away and bit her tongue, noting what a terrible fibber her brother was. They had no Uncle George. She wondered if Christopher could even convince a thirsty man to drink a glass of water. Then again, he needed only to persuade his friends Henry and Robert, so Molly thought that it wouldn’t be such a hard sell after all.

  Several minutes later, the seven of them wandered through the carnival grounds, making their way to the parking lot on the east side of the field. The lilting music from the carousel filled the evening air, harmonizing with the glorious scent of fried sausage, peppers and onions dancing in the breeze. Nearby, a clown-suited balloon seller with a mop of orange frizzy hair, a huge red nose and a pair of oversized sunglasses attached a blazing yellow balloon to a helium tank and filled it until nearly bursting. Behind the sunglasses, a pair of ashen gray eyes focused on the Jordan family as they silently passed by.

  “Spying on them was too easy,” Belthasar thought as he watched the Jordans depart, delighted he could slip into their territory without them having the slightest clue. Yet before he devised a plan for their ultimate ruin, he wanted to get closer to the family and gather more information about how best to exact his revenge. After all, the people who had vexed him for so many years should suffer a defeat as equally memorable for himself as it was miserable for them.

  “I’ll slip into somebody local to keep an eye on the Jordans, waiting for the right moment to strike,” Belthasar mused as he filled up a blood red balloon, deciding to return to the Clara Dú estate first and flesh out his plan. When he was finally ready to attack, Belthasar felt confident that the perfect candidate to serve as his spy would turn up.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A Second Santa

  Belthasar’s ability to freely roam the planet hung over the Jordan family like a rain cloud. Only this cloud was the dreariest shade of gray imaginable and stretched on for miles and miles. They informed Mr. Smithers and his wife Emma about what they had learned, stopping at their newly remodeled restaurant late Saturday morning the very next day before business hours. The couple recoiled at the news, recalling those chilling words that Belthasar had uttered on the coronation platform.