The Black

by D. J. MacHale

  "Whoa," I exclaimed. "How did you know?"

  "There isn't much that happens in Thistledown that gets by me."

  I remembered who the guy was. He was poking around the lake and found my Davis Gregory jacket. He was the only guy who knew I was dead. At least he was when he was alive. Which he wasn't anymore. Not if he was talking to me in the Black.

  "What's your name?" I asked.

  "George," he answered. "George Ogilvy. They call me George 0. I died because I tried to tell your friend the truth about what happened to you . . . and about the horror that demon'll bring to anybody who gets in his way."

  13

  "You saw Damon?" I asked. "He talked to you?"

  "Don't know nothing about no Damon," he said. "The guy haunting me was a skeleton man."

  "Gravedigger," I said. "He isn't real. It's a character my friend created."

  "That ain't no character. He's as real as you or I, and since you and I are dead, maybe he's more real than us."

  The old guy wiped away tears. He seemed disoriented, though I wasn't sure if that was because of his brush with Gravedigger or because he hadn't expected to find himself dead.

  "What happened?" I asked.

  "I find things around the lake. Things nobody wants no more. Some people pay good money for other people's junk. I was sleeping in the woods to get an early start on combing the north shore when I heard the two boats colliding.

  Horrible sound. Won't never forget it. When I found your jacket, I put two and two together and figured you were history."

  "How did you know it was my jacket?" I asked.

  "Had your name in it."

  Oh.

  "Your parents own the yellow cottage a couple miles from town. You got that pretty sister."

  "You really don't miss anything, do you?"

  "When you spend your life collecting junk, you get to know who's throwing it out. I seen you every summer since you were kids, and I seen your friend. What's his name?"

  "Marsh."

  George's lip started to quiver and he began to cry again. I felt bad for the old guy. Not only was he dead but his last days hadn't been good ones.

  "All I wanted was to tell your friend what happened," he said, his voice cracking. "That's all. Nobody should be left to rot under the water like that."

  "Yeah, thanks for that image."

  "But then . . . I started seeing things. Terrible things. A snake came outta my drain while I was brushing my teeth.

  It sunk its fangs right into my arm, but then it just up and vanished, like it was never there. Then all the tools at my house, they all turned to rubber. I know it sounds crazy but I'd pick up a hammer and it'd fall limp in my hand. But it only looked that way. I tried hammering with it and I smashed up my finger. Now, I'm a lone wolf, but I needed to see some normal folks. You know, to prove all was right with the world. So I went into town. The place was lousy with tourists, but none of them had faces. Men, women, even kids, they all looked like mannequins in a store window, just floating around all silent-like. I near went outta my mind. I realized pretty quick that none of it was real, it was just tricks that ghost was playing on me. I tried telling normal folks—you know, the ones with faces—what was going on but nobody believed me. Can't say I blame them. They all think I'm loony anyway."

  "I believe you, George."

  "I finally couldn't take it no more and holed up in my house. I boarded up the bedroom to keep that skeleton and his crazy tricks out. Lotta good it did. He came through the wall like it was made of air."

  "All because he didn't want you to tell Marsh what happened to me?"

  "Not just that. He haunted my dreams, showing me horrible things. People at war, all kinds of killing and cruelty.

  He told me we were all on some road and the more people who knew about it, the more would be in trouble. He said it was all your friend's fault."

  "Marsh? No way."

  "Ah, I didn't believe him. I think he only told me that so I'd go after the kid and scare him even more. I think I know why, too."

  "Okay, why?"

  "'Cause that ghost can't really do nothing. Sure, he can show you things that scare the living wits out of ya, but it ain't real. He's got it in for that boy and I think my gettin' in the act would of made it all seem more real. But I wouldn't do it. No, sir. I'm a good man."

  I could have told him that not everything Damon did was an illusion, but I didn't want to mess up his mind any more than it already was.

  George took a deep breath and looked around as if trying to figure out exactly where he was. "Yeah, a real good man," he said sadly. "Look where it got me."

  The poor old guy had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had paid the price.

  "So you never told Marsh what happened to me?" I asked.

  "I tried. Couple of times, but I was so scared. The best I could do was give him a key to my house. I got a piece of your boat there. I used it with a bunch of other wood to close off my bedroom. Lotta good that did."

  My heart raced. "You have a piece of my boat in your bedroom? How do you know what it is?"

  "It's got a name on it . . . Galileo. Must be a piece of the stern."

  "It is. Did you tell Marsh what to look for at your house?"

  "Didn't get the chance. The bogey came after me. It chased me into the road and, well, the truck that hit me wasn't an illusion."

  "I'm sorry, man." I said, wincing.

  "Why? Wasn't your fault."

  "And it definitely wasn't yours. If it makes you feel any better, you did the right thing and that means you probably won't be here for long."

  "Yeah? That's good. I think. Where exactly is here?"

  How was I going to explain that to him? At that moment, Bernie the mailman came walking along the sidewalk, whistling some silly song.

  "Bernie!" I called out. "Just the guy I'm looking for."

  "What can I do you for, Chicken Coop?"

  I pulled the mailman into my yard.

  "This is George. George 0. He just got here from the Light and needs the download on how things work."

  Bernie lit up with a big smile. "Well, he's come to the right guy."

  "George," I said, "Bernie's like you. He knows where all the skeletons are buried. Ooh, bad choice of words. He knows everything about everybody. He'll help you understand what's going on."

  "You a mailman?" George asked with a frown. "You ain't one of them crazy ones, are ya? I've seen enough crazy to last me a lifetime."

  Bernie laughed. "Well, you're on to another life now so keep an open mind."

  George didn't look too happy. I sat down next to him on the stairs.

  "You're a good man, George," I said. "What you did is gonna help Marsh after all."

  George sighed. "I gotta tell ya, that bogey scares me. Not because of the things he did but because of what he showed me. If we're on this road he talked about, it ain't just your friend I'm worried about. We're all in for a load of trouble."

  There was nothing I could say to that.

  "I'll take it from here, Cooper," Bernie said with compassion.

  "Good luck, George," I said, and stepped out of the Black . . .

  . . . to arrive at our lake cottage in the Light. My goal was to get Marsh to George 0.'s house so he could find the piece of the Galileo and figure out exactly what happened to me. That was the goal, anyway. I had no clue how to do it.

  Marsh wasn't there. Both my parents' cars and Sydney's silver Beetle were gone too. Was it possible they'd gone back to Stony Brook? It wasn't likely, not before they figured out what had happened to me.

  I closed my eyes and stepped away from the house, arriving in downtown Thistledown. I hoped that maybe Marsh was poking around. It was as good a place as any to look for him.

  I walked along the street, invisible to everyone. It was cool and sad at the same time. I saw people I knew and some I wished I'd never met. I kept wanting to say something, but knew they couldn't see or hear me. The longer I was there,
the more it made my heart ache. I didn't want to be a ghost. I wanted my life back. I wanted to hang out with Britt and party at the drive-in. I wanted to argue with my sister again. I wanted to play Uno with my parents. I wanted to be me.

  Damon had offered me the chance to do all that. All I had to do was help him find his mystical weapon. But what would happen once he got it? If he got his life back, he wouldn't be returning to ancient Macedonia. He'd be part of the twenty-first century. How much damage could he really do? I mean, he'd just be some freak in a Halloween costume. He had no army. Or country. Or power. If he started causing trouble, he'd be locked up. He had more power as a spirit than he would as a living human.

  Would bringing him back to life really be all that bad?

  I didn't get the chance to come up with an answer because I caught sight of Sydney's silver Beetle pulling out of the parking lot of the mini golf course. Score. I had no idea where she was going so I did the only thing I could think of . . . I ran after the car and hopped onto the back bumper. Why not? What would happen if I fell off? Being a ghost had some advantages.

  Looking in through the back window I saw that Marsh was with her. Double score. My plan was to stick with them until I could figure out some way to help guide them to the truth about what happened to me. Once that was done, I'd worry about how to get Damon off Marsh's back.

  Sydney drove to a remote part of town where I'd never been before. She turned onto a country lane that was no more than two ruts of dirt. For a second I thought she and Marsh were looking for a place to make out, but that was about as unlikely as anything I'd seen since I'd been dead.

  As I rode along, it struck me that I wasn't the least bit tired. Or hungry. Time really had no meaning to me anymore. Too bad. That was another thing I missed about being alive. Sleeping. And dreaming. And lying in bed until noon.

  When we arrived at our destination, everything became clear. The rutted road opened up to a clearing where a ramshackle trailer home was parked in the center of what could best be described as a junkyard. I had no doubt that this was George 0.'s house. The old man had done it. He gave Marsh a clue and Marsh had run with it. Nice going, Ralph.

  He and Sydney got out of the car and surveyed the mess.

  Marsh, always the philosopher, said, "Some people would look at this and see junk. Others see history."

  Sydney snapped back with, "But most wouldn't be caught dead here. I'm not sure what category we're in."

  I missed those guys.

  While they looked around, I went inside because I had the advantage of knowing what to look for. The trailer was a sad place that was full of tools and trash. I tried not to imagine George 0. living in that squalor and focused on looking for the room he had boarded up to keep Gravedigger out. It didn't take long. There were only three rooms.

  The walls of his bedroom were covered with planks that he'd nailed up. I imagined him lying in his bed, terrified, thinking he was safely boarded up inside, and seeing Gravedigger float through the wall. He was lucky not to have died of a heart attack right there.

  I checked out each and every board until I found the one I was looking for. Where the others were weathered gray, this was painted blue. It really stood out from the others, especially since the word "Galileo" was painted on it in black. I didn't think you could miss it.

  I was wrong.

  Marsh and Sydney got to the bedroom soon after. They opened the door and were both surprised when a length of board fell down at their feet. They had no idea what they were looking for and I didn't know how to help them. While they searched the room, I focused on the blue board, trying to get it to rattle, or wiggle, or do anything that would draw their attention. It didn't budge. I looked around, hoping to see something I might be able to levitate and float in front of the board to get their attention, but nothing was light enough for me to move.

  "Look at the board!" I shouted in frustration.

  They didn't. They checked drawers and even looked under the bed, but they didn't examine the boards that were nailed to the wall.

  "Let's check the kitchen," Marsh said, and that was it. The two left the room without seeing the clue George 0. had meant for them to find. I was frantic. I couldn't think of anything to get them to come back. I was about to run after them when I heard a voice that stopped me cold.

  "Why is it so important to you that they learn of your fate?"

  I turned quickly to see Damon examining the blue board.

  I tried not to show him how surprised I was. "Closure, I guess."

  It was only a small lie. What I really wanted was for Marsh to know that I was a ghost and doing my best to protect him from Damon.

  "Well, then," he said. "Let me offer you a sign of good faith."

  Damon turned to the wall that was opposite the blue board and closed his eyes. Suddenly light appeared through the cracks between the boards nailed in front of the window as if a high intensity spotlight had been turned on outside. A focused beam of light flashed out of the bedroom door and along the length of the trailer, toward Marsh and Sydney. Damon was doing just what I wanted to do, but couldn't.

  Marsh and Sydney saw the strange light and did exactly what you'd expect . . . they followed it back to the bedroom.

  Marsh entered first, his eyes focused on the light that was moving across the floor, headed for the wall with the blue board. He said, "Whatever's doing that, it wants us in here." Marsh was getting with the program. He had accepted the possibility that supernatural forces were at work.

  "I want to leave, Marsh," Sydney said nervously.

  Damon made the light travel across the floor, up the wall, and come to rest on the blue board and the word "Galileo." Sydney and Marsh stared at the board curiously.

  "Is that it?" Sydney asked.

  "C'mon," I coaxed them both. "Look closer."

  They didn't. Both were too freaked out by what was happening to play detective.

  Sydney, as usual, was growing impatient. "Yeah, and?" she said sarcastically.

  Damon had even less patience. He opened his eyes and glared at the wall. Instantly the board shuddered as if it had been hit from the outside. Marsh and Sydney both jumped.

  It was exactly what Marsh needed. He braced himself and stepped forward, staring at the board.

  "Go, Ralph." I coaxed. "Look closer."

  Marsh squinted at the bright spot of light on the letters, and gasped.

  "Oh my god."

  "What? What?" Sydney asked.

  "Galileo."

  Damon had done it. It would only be a matter of time before Marsh put it all together. I was certain of that. I only wished that I didn't have Damon to thank for it.

  A second later both of us were back on the street of Damon's village in the Black. It wasn't even disorienting. I was getting used to jumping around between dimensions.

  Damon stood with his foot up on the fountain and a satisfied smile on his scarred face.

  "I guess I should thank you," I said. "Then again, you killed me, so it was the least you could have done."

  "Now it is your turn," Damon said, all business. "Find the crucible in the Black and destroy it."

  "Then I get my life back?"

  "No, your friend must then locate the poleax in the Light. Once I have the weapon, I will leave your friend in peace and restore your former life. Is that too high a price to pay for getting yourself out of, what do you call it, Trouble Town?"

  It pissed me off that he knew so much about me.

  "And what happens to you?" I asked.

  Damon looked around the ancient courtyard. "I wish I could say that I would also be returning to my former life, but that opportunity is long past. My goal is to leave this prison and right the wrongs that put me here."

  "What does that mean?"

  Damon leaned in close and gave me a cold stare. The scars on his face pulsed red. It turned my stomach.

  "Those who are responsible for my being here will regret their treachery," he said. "You called me t
he devil, but did you consider there might actually be something worse?"

  The idea that multiple levels of evil existed and Damon wasn't even the worst was a horrifying concept.

  "So this is all about getting revenge?"

  "Call it what you like."

  "Okay, what if I agreed? I don't even know where to start looking for the crucible."

  Damon reached into a small leather pouch that was fixed to his waist and pulled something out.

  "This once belonged to my most trusted ally. A soldier named Adeipho. We were like brothers . . . until he betrayed me. And scarred me. I have carried this with me since that day. Use it to locate his vision."

  He opened his hand. In his palm was a gnarly, brown piece of fungus that looked like an old mushroom.

  "I took this from him the moment before he ended my life," Damon explained. "We were in battle and he did not part with it easily."

  "What is it? A mushroom?"

  "No. An ear."

  "Ow!" I blurted out in disgust and backed off a step. "That's just . . . wrong."

  "It is a piece of him, a connection that will allow you to locate him."

  "It's a piece of him, all right. Geez, you gotta be kidding me."

  "You asked how you can find the crucible and I am giving you that knowledge."

  I looked at the mummified ear and forced myself not to gag. "So this is all about you getting even with some guys who betrayed you? That's it?"

  "Surely you can understand that," he answered.

  I looked up from the shriveled ear and held Damon's gaze. "I want my life back," I said with finality.

  "Destroying the crucible will be your first step back along the road," he replied.

  I reached out and picked up the ear with two fingers. It felt like a dried apricot. My stomach flipped.

  Damon chuckled and said, "I knew you would agree."

  "Yeah, well, I always find my way out of Trouble Town." Damon smiled, revealing his two daggerlike teeth. Seeing them made me realize exactly what had happened. I had just made a pact with the devil.

  14

  I had agreed to help a murderer. My murderer.

  What choice did I have? If I listened to Gramps and did nothing, Damon would kill Marsh and find some other way to get his precious weapon. He'd already waited a few thousand years. What would a few thousand more be? Time meant nothing in the Black. And who was I to judge him for wanting revenge on the guys who betrayed him and cut him up? It sounded like they were just as nasty as he was. Maybe worse. Maybe I'd be doing the universe a favor by unleashing Damon's revenge on them. And how bad would it really be if Damon returned to the Light, alive? What was he going to do? Organize another Macedonian army? A couple of navy SEALS would eat him for lunch. Damon might be less of a threat as a human than as a spirit. The way I looked at it, I was helping to put an end to his treachery for good. I had a lot of reasons to justify the decision I'd made, but one counted above all others: