Mystery Busters, The Curse of the Monster's Tooth

by R L Wagner

  Two minutes later the footman called out, “We be here, children!”

  Now in this neighborhood, the tall masts of schooners towered over two and three story roofs. Some upper-level windows displayed lighted rooms with people walking inside. Laundry hung from long, sagging clotheslines stretched between metal balconies. A pawnshop, grocery store, barbershop, and a photography portrait studio lined the block. We heard the roar of laughter, piano music, and singing coming from the corner. There it was, as written on the curator’s card, 565 Harbor Street. Hopefully Uncle Scott still rented the apartment above the tavern.

  The wooden sign read in dark green letters “Mulligan’s Pub.” It looked like a raucous place. People were outside on benches drinking from tall mugs and smoking pipes. Two sailors attempted to do a jig. One fell, and then the other fell on top of him while attempting to help the first sailor up. Laughter broke out with lots of clapping and pointing.

  The cab pulled just past the crowd to Mulligan’s front doors and stopped. Benny unlocked the door of the cab and the footman opened it. He extended his firm hand to help us out of the carriage. Benny was cautious as he looked to see if another cab had followed. There was none. I pulled the curator’s coins from my pocket.

  “How much do we owe you, sir?” I said to the footman.

  “On a night like this, all them coins ‘ll do nicely, miss.” I dropped the coins into his hand and smiled. We waved as we watched the cab rolled away.

  “Best of luck to you children!” the driver called back to us. Returning to the museum now was not an option!

  “Come on, Sally. I don’t think the man from the museum followed us. You ready to go in?” Benny was anxious to look for Uncle Scott.

  Mulligan’s heavy wood and glass doors suddenly crashed open and swung abruptly toward us. Four big men, probably dockworkers, rushed out. They stumbled, laughed loudly, and heartily slapped each other on their backs. I grabbed Benny and yanked him out of their path.

  “Thanks, Sis. I don’t think they even saw me,” Benny said nervously.

  I put my hand in the satchel and grabbed the camera tightly. “I’ve got the camera and the green key is ready just in case we need to travel fast. Have your backpack ready so we can use it as our travel artifact if we need to. Okay?”

  “Yeah, got it,” Benny said, nodding and clutching his backpack. We cautiously peeked though the doors’ clear and colored glass panes.

  “Okay then ready? So it’s on your MARK . . .” I started.

  “Ah, get SET…” Benny sounded determined.

  “And let’s GO find Uncle Scott, Ben!” I said sounding all brave. We grabbed the door handles firmly and started to pull the heavy doors towards us when Benny suddenly stopped.

  “Hey Sis!” Benny shouted over the escaping pub sounds and blast of hot smells.

  “What?” I yelled back.

  “You called me Ben again!” he shouted, grinning.

  Those doors opened to us worlds far beyond the pulsing laughter and curious aromas of the pub. That entry was our starting gate to new endless worlds of adventure, always present, all around us, alive in unlikely forms and places that exist in courageous moments when we dare to seize them. It gave me a new viewpoint to the meaning of NOW.

  9 Mulligan’s Pub

  SLAM! Someone inside the pub banged hard against the entry doors and bounced off, cackling a maniacal laugh. It really startled Benny and me. The jolting thrust just about crowned both of us in the head. We clutched the door handles like huge shields, grabbing them even tighter with both hands. Benny stopped grinning. For a brief moment we just froze there.

  “We’re just asking for an accident holding these doors like this. Let’s go in!” I said, daring the risk of a possible trampling.

  “I feel like we’re walking into that giant creepy smiling clown’s mouth at the fun-house carnival,” Benny said, staring at the door. Dread gripped his face as we pulled the doors open and stepped inside. The raucous laughter and blaring music of Mulligan’s Pub pounded over us with a hot blast of damp air.

  “Wow! The place is jumping!” Benny said, already bouncing his head to the beat of the music. Mulligan’s Pub looked like a massive, rowdy party masquerading as a business establishment. The patrons’ hoots, loud conversation, and bad singing were clearly intoxicating. Drifting clouds of tobacco smoke swirled around the piano and fiddle player who conducted a rambunctious, drunken choir crowded into the corner. The singers swung their beer mugs with gusto, all to different rhythms, while belting out a tragic ballad about an old lovesick sailor and his long lost mermaid sweetheart.

  “I smell something sweet!” Benny shouted at me.

  “It smells like pie!” I shouted back.

  “What?” Benny yelled.

  “It smells like pie! Like Uncle Scott’s knocking-at-the-doorPIE!” I yelled back, excited, but Benny couldn’t hear me.

  A tall, young, curly red-headed bar maid, with a tray of enormous fruit pies topped with orange cheese wedges, strutted right up to us and boldly grabbed my hand. “The doorway’s not safe darlin’s, come with me!” she shouted.

  I snatched Benny’s hand, and the three of us shot straight down the middle of the tavern. We scampered past crowded tables and hopped over small puddles of spilled beer on the floorboards. Drinkers with thick accents shouted boasts and defiant arguments. Every joke seemed to be a knee-slapper that deserved another gulp from tall glasses.

  “Sit here! I’ll be right back with hot tea,” she shouted as she plopped us in a booth near the kitchen and then darted to the beer taps behind the bar.

  The tavern was lined with large wooden posts decorated with nets, harpoons, glass floater balls, and other nautical relics I didn’t recognize. An enormous row of wooden rafters and hanging, brass gas lamps framed the ceiling. The wallpaper was dark green with a repeating scroll pattern. Black and white etchings of boats hung on every wall.

  The two street-side walls offered wooden booths to loud diners who all sat under stainedglass windows glowing from the light of the outside lampposts. It reminded me of Uncle Scott’s secret downstairs room. A twenty-foot wooden bar with fancy carving took up nearly half the length of the pub. In the middle of bottle-lined shelves hung a large picture of a four-mast ship strangled in the clutches of a wide-eyed sea serpent. I laughed thinking it all made for the perfect set and cast for Jules Verne’s book and movie “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.”

  At the table in front of ours, two sailors dressed in some sort of uniforms were in a tough man competition. They showed off their leg and arm tattoos to impress the giggling girls with feathers in their hair. A few chairs over from them sat three enormous salty sailors in a similar competition that required them to compare their many tales of plunder and blunder all fully illustrated by their numerous collections of scars. The loud wager demanded that the least tattered man would buy another round of drinks for the table.

  Surprisingly, it was quieter back here than at the front door, but by just a pinch. Benny pointed across the room to large, wooden stairway constructed with old and damaged ship parts.

  “Maybe Uncle Scott lives up those stairs!” he yelled.

  “I wonder how he’d get any sleep with all this going on!” I answered.

  Tired, Benny dropped his forehead down on the table. “This place’s smells makes me hungry,” he muttered.

  “Up and at ‘em, sleepy head! Tea’s here!” The barmaid reappeared and put down a pot of steeping tea and two mugs. She wiped her hands on her stained apron and sat down extending her hand. “Molly, Molly Mulligan,” she declared. “Oh, I know it’s a mouthful, but it’s me name. I suppose it could be worse.” Her entire face smiled.

  “Hi Molly, I’m Sally Drake-Marshall and this is my brother Benny,” I said, returning her greeting and shaking hands.

  “Pleased to meet you, Molly,” Benny said. He shook her hand then pulled back fast, hiding his hand and rubbing it after feeling Molly’s sturdy grip. Our introductions went quickly,
but with the constant shouts for more service, our attempted conversation suffered many

  interruptions.

  “Yes, yes, I ‘eared yer plain Pop. I’m on me way,” she shouted. “I’ll just be a moment my darlin’s!” she assured us. Molly darted from the bar to tables and the kitchen with drinks, stew bowls, bread, and pies. She playfully slapped an old, grinning, man with a blue sailor’s cap and cane. She shook her head and laughed as she walked back to us.

  “Yes, to be sure, I know your Uncle Scott Drake. He’s one of my favorites. A class act with great stories, that one. Scotty’s a topnotch reporter peddlin’ unsolved mysteries mostly,” she said with real enthusiasm. “And then there’s his portrait studio down the block. Scotty says he’s teachin’ me to be a first rate photographer, but I don’t know,” Molly said, starting to blush.

  Her words really brought Uncle Scott back to life for Benny and me, much more than the curator’s statements had. Molly actually knows Uncle Scott, likes him, and works with him. We laughed seeing the smiles on each other’s happy faces. Uncle Scott may be missing, but he was quite alive!

  Molly turned again and yelled to tables in the center of the room. “Eddie, pipe down! Can’t you see I’m with my friends ‘ere!” Molly turned back to us. “And you’s two lovelies fit into the story how?” she asked with a lilt in her voice. I told her a brief recollection of everything we had experienced. I left out many important details, of course. I didn’t want us to be mocked or accused of witchcraft or anything like that.

  “So that’s all of it, Molly,” I said it as fast as I could. “We got lost and got this address from the curator at the museum. We’re in a strange city and I guess we sort of need help. We have this address, but our uncle doesn’t know we’re arriving just yet.”

  “Poor angels.” Molly tousled Benny’s hair, then quickly spun around again yelling. “Devon! The Sheppard’s pie and two fruit slices will pop out of the oven in a whisker’s breath. Yer hollerin’ won’t make ‘em bake any faster!” Molly turned back to our table. “Oh yes,” she was back in our conversation, “as I was saying. He’s quite tricky with a camera Mr. Drake is. I call him Scotty. I help ‘im out two or three mornin’s a week at his portrait shop three doors down. He leases his quarters in the upstairs corner.” Molly stopped, sat back and crossed her arms. “Look at you both, my poor ducklings, arriving just off the boat, in them clothes. And now ‘ere and lookin’ so hungry,” Molly said, acting big sisterly.

  “Yeah,” Benny shot Molly his most pathetic puppy face, “actually Molly, we’re a bit short on…” Benny didn’t say it fast enough.

  Molly shot up out of her seat, spun around again and shouted to the crowd. “Yes, yes stuff yer demandin’ wind pipes boys! I’m steppin’!” Then she twisted back, and it was our turn again. “I’ll be comin’ right back darlin’s with cream and sugar and maybe a wee bit something more,” she said. Then like a sweet, speeding, ball of fire, she was off.

  “I never knew someone who could talk so fast and with so many people at once,” I laughed.

  “She said Uncle Scott rents the corner apartment upstairs.” Benny garbled it out smiling and yawning. “But, we still have about 30 minutes left of the hour we agreed on, right?” “Right.”

  I sat back. We watched Molly dart between the bar, tables, and the kitchen. She looked like a human pin ball game. She was the clear favorite over all of the other waitresses. Everyone had a word with her when she served his or her table. A short moment later, she was back with us, but first Molly shouted at the crowd.

  “I’m taking my break now! So’s not a peep!” Molly’s declaration came with a chorus of negative responses from the crowd, but surprisingly, no one challenged it or interrupted us again. Molly turned, sitting with us now. She started once again by flashing her huge smile. Molly was terribly sweet, extremely motherly, and never stopped talking.

  Between her galloping sentences, winks, and hand gestures, Benny sank into the booth cushions next to her. He rolled his eyes and shot me another silent big “yikes" look while making a talking motion with his hand. I slapped Benny’s knee and he stopped. I was grateful that she was helping us.

  “Bein’ the oldest siblin’ of five, needy brothers and two, screamin’ sisters, I saw it right off plain.” Molly’s voice changed and she leaned closer. “You two dandies are in a stew pot and don't know the potatoes from the beef. Your uncle caught the train with a bag and camera this morning, but he made sure to pay up for another four weeks rent. We don’t know when we’ll see ‘im next, but he surely must come back some time. So, you two take his room with the clothes you've got, and on Monday mornin’, we’ll go to the docks and see about gettin’ back your missin’ bags. 'Til then, sign this and open up a tab." Molly produced a piece of paper from her apron pocket, wrote Mulligan’s Pub on top, dated it, and wrote “2 slices fruit”.

  Benny and I smiled and eagerly signed. Molly beamed with approval and snatched up the tab.

  “Done!” she declared. That big grin filled her face and she bolted like a launching rocket.” Two pies! Comin’ up!” Molly quickly

  maneuvered through the growing crowd and vanished into the kitchen.

  "I like her even if she never stops talking,” Benny said and put his head back down on the table and zoned out while staring at the wall.

  I leaned back and tried to hide it from Benny, but my fear was growing. The sounds of the pub, the piano, and singing faded in my ears. This wasn't what I expected at all. The

  excitement had turned into fatigue, and I felt numb as the events of the night spilled over me. Molly’s description of taking care of her younger siblings really touched me. I rushed into the moment and carelessly took Benny with me to this strange place. We were both completely exhausted with no money and far away from home, to say the least. I wasn’t at all sure if this camera was even going to work to get us back. I clutched the bag with my clothes and camera and held it tight against me. There was definitely no Great-Uncle Scott happily awaiting rescue here.

  Across the pub, I saw Molly returning with pie and place settings. We had gotten lucky, very lucky so far. We had met the museum curator, honest cabbies, lost the creepy man in black, and now we had Molly with us. It was remarkable how Molly never lost her enormous smile. She was proud of the gigantic pie slices she placed in front of us. She waited for our reaction. Boy, it was just what we needed. The sweetness of apples, cinnamon, and sugar were familiar, wonderfully, excitingly familiar. I felt instantly better with my first, slow bite.

  “Oh, Molly! You have no idea!” I managed to stammer out with my mouth full. “This is delicious!” Memories of Uncle Scott and his pies danced in my head. Could this actually be the place he got them from?

  “Best pie ever!" Benny accidentally spit crust across the table as he spoke.

  “And with cheese! I never would have thunk it!”

  “I’ll take the crumb on my face as a compliment, Benny,” Molly beamed, “and give one in return. I like you two courageous kids, showin’ up unexpectedly; so disheveled from yer extreme travelin’ voyage. And now yer sittin’ here, broke, but with pie and tea. Yer makin’ some of your own luck, you two! That's what yer doin’, makin’ some of yer own luck!” For a split second, we were quiet. It took a moment to decode Molly’s message through her heavy accent, but when we did, the three of us burst into a loud, silly laughing fit.

  “Sounds like we fit in pretty well in this place, huh, Sis?” Benny said proudly.

  He was right. I looked around. Our hooting laughter melted right into Mulligan’s scene. Nobody even took notice. The mood shifted to a higher pace when the musicians played a fast jig and added a concertina player into the band. Suddenly it was louder.

  “Now you pay them no mind at all children, especially me Uncle Howard there. Sit down, Howard!” Molly shouted, “We all know yer a fine dancer!”

  Everyone in the pub was clapping and laughing. The concertina, fiddle and piano players slammed out a loud tune for Howard
to perform his sailor jig on the tabletops. We laughed too. We couldn’t help it. The pub was a like a nautical circus party and Molly was their sweet, grinning ringleader.

  Benny leaned over, chuckling loudly directly into my ear. “And this is where Uncle Scott lives!” he said.

  Molly turned back to us, her eyes wide and smiling. “So, my darlin’s! Your castle awaits. Are you ready? ‘ere we go!” Molly said it like it was a surprise of fun and games.

  She grabbed one of Benny’s hands and I grabbed his other. We shot up from the booth still laughing. Benny and I squeezed tight making sure not to lose Molly. We scurried across the pub, slicing through the crowds’ applauds and hoots. Everyone shouted random comments or advice to “the children” as we ran past. Of course, we just smiled and politely sped by, declining the numerous invitations to sit down and join that table’s festivities.

  Still giggling, we climbed up the heavy timber stairs above the pub crowd. We turned right on the landing, then right again, and climbed to the top into a long, second-story hallway. We stopped for a moment, caught our breath, and listened.

  “Hey! It’s quiet! Well, not completely, but almost!” Benny declared.

  “An’ what a gift it is, Benny. After a gruelin’, evenin’ of workin’ on the pub’s floor, peace and quiet is definitely what I need. It’s these thick floorboards, plaster ceilings, and heavy timber between the floors that dampen the noises almost completely.”

  The hall ran down the center of the building’s second story. Maroon and gray, foiled, flower wallpaper covered the long hall walls. Dark wooden baseboards and trims lined the hall and framed around the six, numbered, coffee-brown doors. Wooden bead-board paneling rose four feet off the floor and ran the full length of the hall. The rows of glowing brass, nautical, gas lamps lit the hallway, their spacing making the hall look unnaturally long.

  “It sort of looks like the stairs that go down to Uncle Scott’s underground room,” Benny said slowly, as if it were a question.