“Do you know if they had any kids?” Jackson asked.
“I think they did, but I have no idea what their names were.”
Jackson was already typing away at the computer. “What are you doing?” Josh asked. He wasn’t sure where this was headed.
“If they had kids, they must have gone to Bridgewater High. So we just look in the Bridgewater attendance records for anyone named Greenfeld who attended around 1900 to 1920 or so.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Sabina asked skeptically.
“I have the password,” Jackson blushed a little. “Remember how I used to help out in the office after school?” Josh almost smiled. Only Jackson would feel guilty about misusing the password to save lives.
“Okay, I’m in the records,” Jackson said after a minute. “Now I’ll just search the last name Greenfeld, and . . . .” He hit enter.
“Frank Greenfeld, class of ’89. Too recent. David Greenfeld, class of ’56. Jerome Greenfeld, class of ’32. Probably not. Megan Greenfeld, class of ’21.” He looked up. “Maybe. Let’s do a little search on this Megan and see what we can find.”
Jackson searched every available online archive in the Bridgewater computer network. The only thing he could discover about Megan was that she wasn’t on the list of graduating seniors in 1921 or the following year.
“She didn’t graduate?” Sabina asked.
“Apparently not, unless her name was accidentally left off the graduation list. I hate to say this, but I’m not getting anything else from these databases. I think we’re going to have to take a little field trip to the Bridgewater Library.”
17
Bridgewater Public Library was one of the oldest libraries in the state. It was originally established in 1798, but its collections had been housed in the town hall until local architect Samuel McKim constructed the current brick building in 1897.
While most libraries were computerizing their card catalogs and archives, this one fought hard against modernization. It still had the same metal card-catalog drawers filled with yellowing cards that had been there when Sabina’s mother was a little girl.
Head librarian Grace Kindal still hand-typed the name and Dewey decimal number of each new book onto its own card. Finding anything at the library was a labor-intensive process. That’s why most of the students avoided using the place for research papers. Yet the library was also home to one of the biggest and oldest archives in the state. Anyone who had the patience to sit for hours poring through its yellowing stacks and extensive microfilm collection could reap big rewards.
Jackson loaded roll after roll of the film onto the machine’s spindle, then patiently advanced through hundreds of old newspapers and archival documents. Sabina and Josh peered nervously over his shoulder.
“See anything?” Sabina asked for about the hundredth time.
Jackson frowned. “Nope. Do either of you want to take over? My arm needs a rest.” Jackson had a large bandage where the glass had cut into his right arm. Josh volunteered to take over. He felt bad for Jackson, and he was a little afraid to make him angry. Who knew what would happen?
An hour later, Josh finally found something. “Look at this,” Josh whispered. He zoomed in on a page from the Bridgewater Gazette. It was dated March 2, 1921. It read:
Local Girl Commits Suicide
Student’s parents say classmates’ taunting drove their daughter to take her own life.
Bridgewater, March 2—Megan Greenfeld, a seventeenyear-old senior at Bridgewater High School, was found dead in her house at 15 Sparrow Drive yesterday afternoon, the victim of an apparent suicide. Miss Greenfeld’s parents said their daughter had been despondent after enduring months of taunting by her classmates.
“They called her the most awful names,” Mrs. Esther Greenfeld said. “She became moody. But in the last few weeks, I thought things were finally turning around for her. Suddenly she became popular and started to perk up.”
Mrs. Greenfeld and her husband were shocked and deeply saddened by the surprising turn of events. No suicide note was left. The parents said they were searching for their daughter’s missing diary for any clue as to why she committed this horrific act.
Miss Greenfeld’s death is the latest in a string of tragedies to hit Bridgewater High School. On February 25, junior Stan Berner died at County Hospital. Doctors still do not know the cause of his mysterious illness. Three days later, science teacher Jim Richmond succumbed to fumes while working in his classroom laboratory. Police said none of the chemicals in the classroom were toxic, and they were baffled by the events surrounding Mr. Richmond’s death. . . .
“She died in my house.” Sabina shivered. “Maybe even in this room.” She looked around the basement. Josh put a reassuring arm around her shoulders. “What do we do now?” she asked.
“I think we should dig around for that diary,” Josh said. “It might hold some clues about Black Magic.”
“But it’s been years. Do you really think it’s still there?” asked Jackson.
“We have to at least look,” Josh said.
Sabina crawled into her basement storage closet. “I found something!” she shouted from inside. When she emerged, she was carrying a large old book. “No, wait, it’s just an old cookbook.”
Josh had dragged a huge cardboard box out of the closet and was now digging through it. “Just some old school drawings in here,” he concluded.
Sabina peeked inside the box. “Those are mine. Look through the older stuff over there.” She motioned to the back of the closet, where thick dust and cobwebs covered piles of books and papers. Jackson was already digging through those piles, using a flashlight to help him see in the dark closet.
“Ow!” Jackson exclaimed.
“What’s wrong?” asked Sabina. She held up a flashlight to his hand. There was a large red welt in the center of his palm.
“I just put my hand down on a nail.” He bent down to inspect the floor. “There’s a nail sticking up here.”
Josh pulled on the nail, which made the wooden floor beneath it jiggle. “This floorboard is loose.”
Sabina came closer to inspect the loose floorboard. She pulled hard on the nail, and the wooden plank beneath it started to slide upward. “Hand me that hammer over there.”
With the claw side of the hammer, she pried out the nail. The loose floorboard came out easily. Sabina stuck her hand inside the narrow hole. She jiggled her hand slightly in the hole before pulling out a small, dusty book. It was Megan Greenfeld’s diary.
18
Sabina carefully carried the diary over to the sofa. The pages were yellowing. Many of them were torn. Josh and Jackson sat down on either side of her. Sabina blew away the dust and then opened the book to the first page. She began to read out loud:
January 3, 1921
A new year. Why can’t I feel like a new person? I got perfect marks on my math test. Mr. Simpson told me how pleased he was with my work. I was so happy. Then Stan called me “fatty four-eyes,” and I was miserable for the entire rest of the day. I hate that Stan! Why must he always pick on me?
January 5
I ate my lunch alone again. Across the room I watched Lizzy Jenkins and her friends laugh and flirt with the boys. When they saw me staring, they pointed and jeered at me. I hate this school.
January 6
Today I was looking in the cellar to find some potatoes for my mother when I came across something quite odd. It is a game called Black Magic. It has some cards with it. They look like playing cards, except these cards just have writing on them. They are spells. But there are only a few of them. They are meaningless things like how to find something that is lost or how to turn water into wine. On the board there is a silly warning about the game. There is also a crystal. It had the strangest haunting glow, even in the darkness of the cellar.
Too bad witchcraft isn’t real. I can think of a few people at school I wouldn’t mind putting an evil spell on. Today, Stan tripped me as I was turning
in a history paper. Everyone in class laughed. Dearest Diary, sometimes I think that you are my only real friend in this world.
January 8
I wonder if I could actually cast a spell! But none of the spells in Black Magic are of interest to me. I need a spell that can change my life.
So today I went to the town library to read up on witchcraft. I only found one good book of spells. It was behind a bunch of other books. It looked really old, and its script matched the script in the game.
One spell in particular caught my attention. It uses a crystal, like the one in the Black Magic game. It promises to reverse one’s bad fortune. The crystal must first be charmed in a magic potion. I have brought the book home and am determined to learn how to charm that crystal.
January 12
Finding the ingredients for my potion wasn’t easy. My mother had a red candle—that was easy enough. I had to visit three different shops before finding one that could sell me eucalyptus oil, and they had to order it from Boston. But by far the hardest ingredient to find was the blood. It would have been easy to use my own, and I would have gladly given it. But this had to be the blood of someone who had wronged me.
For three days, I shadowed Stan. He teased and taunted me mercilessly the whole time, but I persisted. Finally, I was behind him in assembly. For once I was glad that no one sat next to me. When the lights went down, I leaned forward and scraped my blade along the back of his neck. I was so gentle he barely even felt it. For the remainder of the day, I carried his blood in a vial tucked under my shirt.
I am ready to begin.
January 15
It is done.
Late last night, I crept down to the basement while my parents slept. It was difficult to see in the dim candlelight. I prepared my ingredients carefully and then followed the spell instructions, step by step. According to the book, I am to rub the crystal and think of someone who has wronged me. I can think of so many people, but I will start with Stan.
After I was finished, I wrote down the instructions and hid them beside the crystal inside the Black Magic game.
January 18
What a day! I should start, dear Diary, by telling you that my parents have had some good fortune of late. My father was promoted to vice president of the Bridgewater Savings and Loan. The position brought with it a large wage increase. To celebrate, my father treated me to several lovely new dresses, one of which was pink silk with a large bow in front. I wore that one to school on Monday. How the boys stared! Stan had only nice things to say to me. It was as though he was under a spell. My spell, perhaps?
February 7
I have had quite a week! Bessie Olsen and I have become such good pals. I think I’ve spent every afternoon in the last two weeks over at her house. Then today, Niles Turner asked me to the Valentine’s dance. I must admit, dear Diary, I have had several such offers and was forced to choose between many handsome boys. Stan has not been in school for several days. I have heard he is very ill. Although he was most unkind to me in the past, I do hope he is better soon.
February 25
Oh, I heard the most distressing news today! Stan has died! Bessie knows his family well. She told me the doctors have no idea what disease took Stan’s life, but she heard his passing was most dreadful. First his hair fell out in large clumps, and his body ballooned as if filled with air. Then his eyes began to bleed. How horrifying!
Could I have done this?
February 28
It has happened again. Today Mr. Richmond was very hard on me in science class. He gave me a failing grade on my test, saying that any four-year-old could have done as well. I think that was a horrible thing to say, don’t you, Diary? After he said it, I couldn’t help it. I wished he were gone.
Now he is.
Our principal said Mr. Richmond died of fumes in the science classroom. Yet the police could find no trace of dangerous chemicals in the room.
I fear I have unleashed something I cannot control.
February 27
My life is spinning dangerously out of control. I cannot bear to hurt another human being. Yesterday I had an argument with my newest and dearest friend, Bessie, on our way home from school. She sulked away. I was so angry, Diary, that I couldn’t suppress my thoughts.
I heard the screech of the tires and then the horrible thud as the car struck Bessie. The doctors say they do not know whether she will live.
February 28
I must destroy this crystal, and with it, this curse. This game has been made evil somehow. I do not know what will happen when I try to reverse this evil. I just know that it must stop. Now. Before anyone else gets hurt.
“That’s the last entry,” Sabina said, closing the diary.
“There’s no mention of her wanting to hurt herself. It sounds like she was just trying to destroy the game,” Josh said.
“Maybe she didn’t commit suicide after all. Maybe . . . she tried to stop the game, and it killed her.” Sabina looked terrified.
Josh looked again at the face inside the crystal. It seemed to be screaming at him.
“Do you think we could find the book she used?” Josh asked. “Maybe we can figure out what she did . . . so we don’t do it.”
“The Bridgewater Library never throws anything out. I think if we dig around a little we can,” Sabina said. Josh knew that this was their last hope.
19
It wasn’t easy to convince Miss Kindal to let them into the library’s oldest archives. “Not a book will be out of place when you leave. Not a single paper.” She pointed her finger at the group to accentuate every word.
Sabina held her right hand up. “I swear, Miss Kindal. We’ll leave it exactly how we found it.” She knew that was probably a lie.
Once Miss Kindal had disappeared up the stairs, the three of them went to work. They dug through the stacks, looking for anything having to do with witchcraft. After an hour of searching (during which the librarian poked her head down about every ten minutes), they had assembled a small pile of books.
Sabina went through each one carefully. “This one is too new—1956. These two don’t include any spells. Nope, I don’t see anything that matches. Oh, wait a minute. This one looks promising.” She held open a dark brown book with faded, yellowing pages. As Megan had described, it was written in the exact same script as the Black Magic game. There was no author listed. It was handwritten and simply labeled Dark Spells. Josh was skeptical. The book didn’t look magic, just old. He wondered how much of Megan’s diary he should believe.
“Let’s see if there’s any hexing spell in here that matches the one Megan used,” Sabina said. The pages were so thin they were like tissue paper. Sabina turned them carefully, one at a time. “Here it is. Reversal of Fortune. ‘Use this spell to undo your enemies and bring good fortune your way.’”
“Red candle, eucalyptus oil, blood of the person who has wronged you. Those are the ingredients Megan used,” said Jackson, reading over Sabina’s shoulder.
“This is definitely the spell, but I don’t see anything here about how to reverse it,” Sabina said, sliding her finger down the page. “Oh wait, it says, ‘To take back the curse, reverse your steps and chant, ‘This spell on thee I return to me.’”
“Maybe Megan tried to reverse the curse, and it came back at her,” suggested Jackson.
“We don’t want to make the same mistake,” Sabina said, the fear obvious in her voice. “But what can we do?”
“Can I see that book for a second?” Josh asked. He squinted at the page, scouring it for anything Sabina—or Megan—might have missed. Finally, he pointed at the side of the page. “There are numbers. See? An upside-down two here, and then a very faint seven at the bottom.”
“What does that mean?” Sabina asked.
“Maybe it’s a page number.” Josh flipped to page twenty-seven. It was the second half of a scornedlove potion. “That’s not it.” Then he turned to page seventy-two. On it was a spell called Firestorm. Josh read out
loud, “The greatest enemy to the evil charm is fire. Add the spell caster’s blood to heat, and it will come to life, consuming the deadliest of spells.”
“Add the spell caster’s blood to heat . . .” Sabina echoed.
“There’s our answer,” said Josh. “We need to build a fire and add our blood to it. We are the spell casters.”
“That seems too easy,” Jackson said skeptically. “Megan did the wrong thing to break her spell, and look where she ended up. I don’t want us to go the same way.”
“Do you have any other ideas?” Josh asked. Silence. “Okay, then I say we try this. If we let this spell go any longer, how many more people are going to get hurt . . . or die?”
“Josh is right,” Sabina whispered. “We have to try.”
“Okay,” Jackson finally agreed. “But how are we going to get Dan’s blood?”
Miss Kindal would never let them borrow a book from the archives. So Josh did something he wouldn’t have done under ordinary circumstances. And these circumstances definitely were not ordinary. He slipped the book under his shirt. “Stay in front of me,” he told Sabina as they walked out.
When Jackson, Sabina, and Josh got outside, it was getting dark. They tried to figure out a way to retrieve Dan’s blood so that they could perform the reversal spell.
“Prick him with a needle?” Jackson suggested. Sabina raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Well, it’s not like we want to stab him with a knife,” Jackson offered.
“Like he’d let us get that close to him, anyway,” Josh said. But Jackson wasn’t listening. He had a finger to his lips and was listening to something. Then Josh heard it too—a low moan coming from the bushes to their left. Then the moan erupted into a series of hacking coughs. It sounded like an animal with a head cold. They peered into the bushes.
The Club (Night Fall ™) Page 4