The Figure in the Shadows

by John Bellairs

  "Wait a minute," said Lewis, opening the book again. "There's one more page. Let's see what's on it." Rose Rita heaved a deep sigh and sat down again.

  They turned to the last page, and this is what they read:

  There are a few extremely powerful amulets that will not respond to the tests I have described. These amulets are very rare. I have never handled such an amulet, nor have I ever seen one, but it is said that one was owned by King Solomon, and that Simon Magus somehow contrived to steal one, so that for a time he seemed to be a very great magician indeed.

  These amulets of which I speak are so powerful that they do not appear to be magic at all. They do not respond to any of the standard tests. Yet, I am told that they will respond to this test:

  Place the amulet in your left hand, cross yourself three times, and say the following prayer:

  Immo haud daemonorum, umquam et numquam, urbi et orbi, quamquam Azazel magnopere Thoth et Urim et Thummim in nomine Tetragrammaton. Fiat, fiat. Amen.

  Then, if the amulet is truly one of those I have described above, it will produce a tingling sensation in the hand. The tingling will last for only a few seconds, and after that the amulet will seem as dull and dead as any ordinary object. It will seem dead, but it will not be dead. I may add here...

  Lewis looked up from the book. There was a strange light in his eyes.

  "Hey!" he said. "Why don't we go up and get Grampa Barnavelt's coin and see if it's one of these?"

  Rose Rita gave him an exasperated look. "Oh, come on, Lewis! She tested it for you the night we found it. Remember?"

  "Yeah, but she didn't use this test. It says right here that the really strong amulets don't respond to the test she used."

  "Unh-huh. And it also says that these strong amulets are very rare."

  "Well, Grampa's coin might be one of them. You can never tell."

  Rose Rita slammed the book shut and stood up. "Oh, all right! Go get your dumb coin and bring it down here and say dumb magic words over it and we'll see what happens. I'm so sick of this whole business that I'd like to drop your stupid coin down the sewer. Now, if you say all this junk here and nothing happens, will you shut up?"

  "Yeah," said Lewis, grinning.

  Lewis ran upstairs and yanked open the drawer of his bedside table. After a bit of fumbling and poking around, he found the coin. He could hear his heart beating and his face felt flushed. When he got back to the library, Rose Rita was sitting there in the leather armchair. She was leafing through a big book full of pictures of sailing ships.

  "Well?" she said, without looking up. "Did you find it?"

  Lewis gave her a dirty look. He wanted her to be interested in what he was doing. "Yeah, I found it. Now, come on and help me."

  "Why do you need my help? You can read, can't you?"

  "Yeah, I can read, but I don't have three hands. You have to hold the book for me so I can read it while I make the sign of the Cross with one hand and hold the coin with the other hand."

  "Oh, all right."

  There was a set of double doors in the middle of one wall of the library. They were glass doors, and they opened right out onto the side yard of the house. Lewis and Rose Rita took up their positions in front of these doors. Lewis stood with his back to the doors. The light fell over his shoulder onto the pages of the book that Rose Rita held up before him. In his left hand, Lewis held the coin. With his right hand, he slowly made the sign of the Cross on himself. He did it three times. Then he began to chant, the way he had heard Father Cahalen do during Mass:

  "Immo haud daemonorum, umquam et numquam..."

  As Lewis chanted, the room began to get darker. The light faded from the bright orange leaves of the maple tree outside, and now a strong wind was rattling the glass doors. Suddenly the doors flew open, and the wind got into the room. It riffled madly through the dictionary on the library table, scattered papers across the floor, and knocked all the lampshades galley-west. Lewis turned. He stood there silent, staring out into the strange twilight. His hand was still clenched tight around the coin.

  Rose Rita closed the book and glanced nervously at Lewis. From where she stood she could not see his face. "Gee, that was weird," she said. "I mean, it was just like... like as if you had made it get dark outside."

  "Yeah," said Lewis. "It was funny how it happened." He did not move an inch, but just stood there, looking out at the night.

  "Did... did anything happen to the coin?" Rose Rita's voice was tense and frightened-sounding.

  "Nope."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah, I'm sure. It's just a dud. C'mon, let's get back to work."

  Lewis moved quickly to the glass doors and shut them. Then he helped Rose Rita pick up the things that the little hurricane had strewn about the room. As he went back and forth, straightening and arranging things, he was careful to keep his face turned away from Rose Rita. The coin had jumped in his hand, and he did not want her to know.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As soon as Rose Rita had gone home, Lewis clattered down the cellar stairs to his uncle's workshop. He dug around in the tool box until he found the wire clippers, and, after a little struggling, managed to cut the little metal loop that held the coin to the watch chain. Then he ran upstairs and rooted around in the drawer of his bedside table until he found his old St. Anthony medal. He had been given the medal after his first Holy Communion, and he had worn it for a while, but then he had gotten tired of it. After a lot of fussing with wire clippers and pliers, he managed to get the coin hooked onto the chain, where the St. Anthony medal had been before. He fastened the chain around his neck and went to the mirror to look at himself.

  October turned into November, and the weather got colder. Lewis could see his breath in the morning when he opened the front door. He wore the magic coin all the time now: to church, to school, and even in bed at night. Jonathan, Mrs. Zimmermann, and Rose Rita had all at different times seen the chain around his neck, but they had assumed he was just wearing his St. Anthony medal again. Whenever he was undressing in his room, Lewis made sure that the door was shut and locked.

  It would have been hard for Lewis to explain how the coin made him feel. The closest thing he could compare it to was the feeling he got when he went to the Bijou Theatre and saw a pirate movie. Lewis loved the cutlass duels and thundering broadsides and smoke and battles and blood. When he stepped out onto the street after seeing one, he could almost feel the sword hanging at his side and the long pirate pistol stuck in his belt. As he walked home, he imagined that he was wrapped in a heavy cloak and stalking toward the docks in some Spanish port, or pacing moodily on his quarter-deck as the planks under him shook to cannonade after cannonade. He felt grim and strong and brave and heartless and cruel. It was a good feeling, and it usually lasted about half of the way home. Then he was just plain old Lewis again.

  The feeling that the magic coin gave Lewis was a bit like the pirate-movie feeling, except that the coin feeling lasted longer. The coin did other things for him too: for one thing, he found that his head was full of schemes and plots. He would walk along dreaming up ways to get even with Woody Mingo and the other kids who bothered him. Of course, he had dreamed of revenge before the magic coin came into his life, but his planning had never been so good. Sometimes Lewis had to shake his head to get rid of a plan that was too awful to think about.

  And it seemed to Lewis that he was dreaming a lot more at night now. The dreams seemed to be in color, with music playing in the background—stirring military music. Lewis would dream that he was riding at the head of an army or leading his knights up over the walls of a castle. There were other dreams too, really frightening ones, but he could never remember them. He just woke up with the feeling that he had had them.

  So Lewis wore the coin and waited for it to do something for him. And around about this time Woody Mingo began to make life really miserable for Lewis.

  It was as if Woody sat up nights thinking of mean things to do: he managed to get a seat
near Lewis in school, and when Miss Haggerty's back was turned, he would dart across the aisle and pinch Lewis in the neck. Hard, so that it hurt for a long time afterwards. Or he would goose Lewis when they were in the bathroom together, or he would put dead mice in Lewis's briefcase because he knew that Lewis was very much afraid of dead animals.

  Probably the most maddening thing that Woody did was to march Lewis down the stairs of the school during fire drills. Lewis's school was a tall old brick building with shaky wooden staircases. The sixth-grade room was on the second floor, and when the fire bell rang and everyone lined up at the top of the staircase, Woody would slip in behind Lewis. Then he would put one hand in each of Lewis's hip pockets and march him down the stairs, saying, "Right butt, left butt, hup-two-three-four, march!" until Lewis got to the bottom, shaken and sick and almost in tears.

  Lewis didn't understand why Woody had decided to pick on him. It was like those kids who jumped out at you when you were walking down the street, and wouldn't let you by till you had told them your name, and they had pounded you a couple of times on the arm. They were bullies, and so was Woody. Kids like that always seemed to be attracted to Lewis. He had hoped that his magic coin would help him to stand up to Woody but so far it hadn't. Lewis might be walking down the street with the coin around his neck, imagining that he was Blackbeard the pirate or Tom Corbett, Space Cadet. Then he would run into Woody and all his courage would evaporate, and he would find himself thinking about the red-handled jacknife that Woody carried in his pocket. But maybe the coin would help him yet. He hoped that it would.

  One night Lewis went to bed thinking about how to get even with Woody Mingo. He fell asleep amid daydreams of exploding baseballs and poisoned peanut butter sandwiches, and trap doors that dropped people into cauldrons of boiling oil. So perhaps it is not very surprising that he had a wild and exciting dream that night.

  In the dream Lewis had become a tall, big-boned Viking chieftain. He and his companions were fighting off an attack by some Indians. Lewis recognized the place where they were fighting. It was Wilder Creek Park, which was just outside the city limits. Lewis had been there on picnics a number of times. In the dream the wooden tables and the brick cook-stoves had vanished, and the park was weedy and overgrown. He and his men were drawn into a ring in the middle of the park, and Indians were attacking them from all sides.

  The dream seemed to go on for hours. Knives whizzed past and arrows flew. Lewis was wielding a heavy battle ax, and each time he swung it, an enemy fell. He waded into the throng of painted savages, laying about him mightily and urging his companions on with deep-throated war cries. Lewis swung and swung, and Indians fell right and left, but still they kept on coming.

  When he woke up the next morning, Lewis felt exhausted. Exhausted, but glowing and triumphant, as if he had just made an eighty-yard touchdown run on a football field. He sat there on the edge of his bed for a while, thinking about the dream. Suddenly he reached in under his pajama top and touched the coin. Darn! It felt perfectly ordinary, just as it always had, except for the time it had jumped and tingled during the saying of the magic spell from Mrs. Zimmermann's book. Lewis felt disappointed. He knew that very powerful amulets were supposed to seem dead, but just the same, he was disappointed. After a dream like that, the coin ought to have felt red-hot. At least, that's what Lewis thought.

  He picked the coin up and eyed it skeptically. It hadn't really done anything for him yet. Nothing real, that is, except give him strange feelings and dreams. And maybe the coin hadn't even done that. Maybe the feelings and dreams had just come out of his own mind.

  Lewis felt confused. He thought about the coin some more as he was getting dressed. It certainly was true that the coin had jumped in his hand that once—or had it? Lewis knew that you could get some very funny pinches and twinges in your body. Once on a hot summer day he had had the feeling that a worm was crawling across his back. But when he took off his shirt and looked, there was nothing there. What if... oh, the heck with it! Phooey on it! Lewis shook his head to get rid of all the conflicting thoughts that were banging around in his skull. By the time he had finished dressing, he felt better. In fact, he was beginning to get that pirate-movie feeling again. Lewis looked at himself in the mirror. He patted the coin. Maybe the coin had heard him. Maybe it knew that he was having doubts about its powers. Maybe it just wanted a chance to prove itself. Okay. He would give it a chance. Today would be the day the coin helped him take care of Woody Mingo.

  CHAPTER SIX

  That morning at breakfast, Lewis asked Mrs. Zimmermann to pack a lunch for him. He said that he was going to stay down at school during the noon hour. Jonathan and Mrs. Zimmermann both smiled happily. They were glad that Lewis was going to have fun with the other boys instead of skulking at home like a fugitive. And when Lewis went out the door, they saw that he was grinning from ear to ear.

  "Rose Rita has been a good influence on him," said Jonathan, as he poured himself a second cup of coffee. "I hope she keeps it up."

  Mrs. Zimmermann stood there staring at the front door. She scratched her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe it's good," she said, slowly, "but I can't help feeling that there's something funny about Lewis these days. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something wrong. Did you notice how tired he looked? Around the eyes, I mean. And yet he was raring to go. It's odd."

  Jonathan shrugged. "It's always odd when a boy like Lewis does something different. But I wouldn't worry about him. I think he knows what he's doing."

  Lewis hummed marching songs all the way to school. He really felt great. But when noontime came and he had eaten his lunch, he felt different. He began to get worried. By the time he had reached the edge of the playground, he could feel his courage ebbing away. Should he turn around and go home? Lewis paused. Then he pulled himself together, patted the amulet, and walked forward in quick nervous strides.

  It was a gray November day on the playground. The football and baseball fields were covered with frozen footprints and bicycle ruts. Puddles of ice lay here and there. Lewis saw a group of boys getting ready to play football. They were lining up to be chosen, and the two captains were flipping a coin to see who got first choice. As Lewis drew near, he saw that one of the boys in the group was Woody. And once again Lewis's courage failed. He felt like going home. But he fought down his fear, and stayed.

  Lewis slipped into the group of boys that were waiting to be chosen. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, hoping that no one would notice him. Near him, a boy who had been jumping up and down and slapping his sides stopped jumping and stared at Lewis as if he were a visitor from outer space. What was old lardo doing here?

  One by one the boys got picked, until only two were left unchosen. They were Woody and Lewis. Woody glanced over at Lewis and grinned.

  "Well, if it ain't lard ass. Djer uncle letcha out of yer cage today?"

  Lewis stared hard at the ground.

  The two captains were Tom Lutz and Dave Shellenberger. It was Tom's turn to choose, and he glanced from Woody to Lewis. Woody was good at sports, but the boys avoided choosing him because he was such a troublemaker.

  "Oh, well. C'mon, Woody," Tom grumbled. Woody walked over to the group of boys on Tom's side.

  For a minute it looked as if Dave Shellenberger would tell Lewis to go home. That was what usually happened on the rare occasions when Lewis showed up to play games with the other boys. But this time, for some reason, Dave chose Lewis. He motioned for him to come over to his side.

  "C'mon, fatty," he said. "We'll make you our center. Need some beef in the line."

  Lewis was in the game. He could hardly believe it.

  After the kickoff, Lewis's side wound up with the ball. Lewis stood there, bent over, legs wide apart, rubbing the football back and forth over the frozen ground. The quarterback started a long count.

  "Forty-three... twenty-four... three... zero... fourteen..."

  Suddenly Lewis felt a sickening shock. He had been stari
ng at the ground, and now he was on his back, looking up at the heavy gray sky.

  "Ooops. Sorry. Guess I jumped the gun." It was Woody, of course.

  "Hey, Woody, come on!" yelled Dave. "Cut out that kind of crap, will you?"

  "I think lard ass here was off sides," said Woody, pointing down at Lewis.

  "I was not, and stop callin' me lard ass!" Lewis was on his feet now, red-faced and angry.

  "That's your name, lard ass," said Woody, carelessly. "Got any other names?"

  Lewis hauled off and punched Woody in the stomach. Woody clutched at his middle. Pain and surprise were in his eyes. The punch had really hurt.

  Several boys who were standing around gasped. Somebody yelled, "Fight! Fight!" and a circle formed around the two boys. Woody was angry now. He spat on the ground and swore. "Okay, you tub of guts," he snarled, moving in with his fists up. "Now you're gonna get it."

  Lewis backed away. He felt like turning and running.

  But now Woody was on him, swinging hard. The blows fell on Lewis's shoulders in a stinging rain. Lewis lunged and got his arms around Woody. Now the two of them were rolling over and over on the ground. Woody came out on top, and Lewis felt his head being pushed down into a frozen puddle. The thin ice cracked, and cold water bit into Lewis's scalp.

  Lewis looked up at the ring of expectant faces hovering against the sky. Woody was astride him, sneering and triumphant.

  "Go ahead, lard ass. Tell 'em what your name is." Woody put his hand on Lewis's face and shoved. Icy water stung Lewis's ears.

  "No."

  "Go on, I said! Tell 'em your name!" Woody dug his knees into Lewis's sides. It was like being caught in a nutcracker.

  Suddenly Lewis lurched upward, and Woody fell over on his back. Now they were rolling over and over again, and this time Lewis came up on top. He was sitting with his full weight on Woody's chest. But Woody had a free arm. He reached up and punched Lewis on the ear. It stung, but Lewis didn't move. He grabbed Woody by the hair and banged his head on the ground.