Nightmare Hour (4 page)

“No!” Ned cried. His hand shot out and bumped over a glass jar. A purple liquid spilled over the table.

“You
fool
!” Margolin shrieked. He slapped the boy again, hard enough to send him reeling into the ladder.

“The potion was ready to clot!” the sorcerer cried, staring at the oozing, purple liquid. “You have ruined it. I must start all over again.”

Ned pulled himself up slowly. “Sorry,” he said. “But--when Shamandra turns me into a lizard, what will you do? Tell me!”

“I shall keep you in a jar,” the sorcerer replied coldly.
“And I will find a new apprentice in the village. An apprentice who isn't a clumsy oaf.”

“You won't change me back to a boy?”

“Why waste good magic?” the sorcerer replied.

“Then…this might be my last day as a boy?” Ned asked in a tiny voice.

Margolin frowned at him. “Stop thinking about
yourself
all the time,” he scolded. “
I'm
the one who has been challenged!”

Suddenly Margolin uttered a sharp cry. His hands shot up in the air. “Help! I…I'm
sinking!
”

Ned watched in amazement as Margolin's body started sinking into the stone floor. The floor rocked and tilted and turned to a shimmering gray liquid. Small gray waves rolled across the stones.

Margolin thrashed wildly in the thick, gray goo.

“Trickery! More of Shamandra's trickery!” Margolin howled. “He has improved. His magic is much stronger than when we last met.”

The sorcerer sank to his shoulders. His hands furiously slapped the surface of the liquid. “Help me, idiot!” He stretched a wet, gray hand out to Ned.

Ned tugged. Using all his strength, he pulled Margolin up from the sticky, wet goo. Cursing and sputtering, with lumpy, gray liquid running down his face, Margolin hoisted himself up beside Ned.

Slowly the floor began to harden back to stone.

“Why is Shamandra doing this?” Ned cried.

“He's jealous!” Margolin yelled, wiping chunks of goo from his beard. “He is a little man with little imagination.
His castle is smaller than mine. And so are his powers. He has always wanted to defeat me.”

Margolin stared across the room at a table laden with golden goblets and colorful jewels.

“He wants my riches and my power, but he will never have them!”

“Sir, I just saved your life,” Ned said. “So will you change your mind? Will you save my life when Shamandra arrives?”

Margolin didn't reply.

“Please--” Ned pleaded. “Please, sir. Please spare me. Please rescue me. I'm begging you.”

Margolin chuckled. “Dream on.”

 

Ned returned to his room, a tiny cellar closet without windows. With a sigh he dropped onto the wooden cot that served as his bed.

He leaned against the stone wall, shut his eyes, and tried to think. His stomach grumbled. For breakfast he usually ate Margolin's leftovers. But this morning the snakes had ruined his appetite.

Margolin's cruel words echoed in Ned's ear: “
Don't you realize that you are doomed?… He will turn you into a lizard… I shall keep you in a jar
.”

Ned shuddered. He pictured himself as a brown lizard, walking on four scaly legs, tail sliding over the floor, his tongue flicking out at insects.

“Ned! Come here!” Ned's eyes shot open at the sound of Margolin's shout. “Lazy idiot, where are you? Prepare my lunch!”

 

Ned spent a restless night. Lizards invaded his dreams. He awoke the next morning in a cold sweat, his heart racing.

Would Shamandra arrive today?

After breakfast Margolin ordered Ned to clear the table quickly.

Ned couldn't stop thinking about Shamandra. He dropped the serving platter, then the utensils. “S-sorry, sir.”

“Fool,” Margolin muttered. “When you have finished dropping everything I own, meet me in the secret chamber. We have work to do.”

Ned cleaned up quickly. Then he hurried to the secret chamber.

To his surprise Margolin greeted him with a smile. “I have had a change of heart. I have decided to give you a chance to defend yourself against Shamandra.”

“A ch-chance?” Ned asked surprised.

Margolin nodded. He reached into the deep pocket of his robe and pulled out a small, shiny object. He handed it to Ned.

Ned examined the smooth, silvery circle. “A common reflecting glass?” He stared at his face in the small mirror. “Sir, how can I protect myself with this?”

“Simple,” Margolin replied, stroking his pointed beard. “When Shamandra begins to cast his spell to change you into a lizard, he will gesture toward you with his left hand. Raise the mirror at just the right moment and you will bounce the magic back at him.”

Margolin stepped toward Ned. “Your timing must be perfect, boy.” He sighed. “It's a small chance. But I decided
you deserve it since you helped me yesterday.”

Then Margolin added, “Maybe it will work. Maybe not. But it will distract Shamandra and give me time to cast my first spell. A good plan indeed!”

Margolin started stirring powders in a large bowl. Ned walked to the fire and began practicing with the mirror. He held it at his side, then raised it quickly, aiming it in front of him.

How much time did he have to practice?

 

Shamandra arrived a few moments later.

Ned gasped.

Shamandra was short and slender. His bright-red robe hung down to the floor. His face was hidden behind a red wool hood. Only his eyes--icy, silvery eyes--were revealed.

He strode slowly, calmly into the room. “Margolin,” Shamandra announced softly, “I am here.”

Margolin laughed. “Shamandra, is your magic as weak as your voice?”

“I…am…not…weak,” Shamandra replied, saying each word slowly, distinctly. “Sample the
Winds of Destruction!
”

Shamandra raised his left hand high. Ned heard a howling sound, low at first, then louder, until it became a deafening roar.

A blast of icy, cold wind shot through the room. Then another blast, so powerful it toppled jars and bottles from the shelves.

The wind became a howling whirlwind.

Ned dropped to the floor and raised his hands in front of his face. But the wind lifted him up, carried him high, and spun him around the room.

“
Nooooooo!
” A terrified scream burst from his throat as the whirlwind smashed him into the stone wall.

He hit hard. Pain shot through his body. He slid to the floor, dazed and panting.

When he finally stood up, Ned saw Margolin point two fingers at Shamandra. “Your winds are as weak as your will!” Margolin declared angrily. “Shamandra, feel the
Darkness of Death!
”

The sorcerer's chamber plunged into darkness.

Not a normal darkness, but a deep blackness. A black hole. As if the darkness had seeped up from under the ground.

And suddenly Ned felt himself falling…falling helplessly, plunging down, down…into the blackness.

“Oh!” Ned uttered a sharp cry as he felt the hard stone floor again. He blinked at the sudden brightness.

Shamandra stood with both hands raised. “A clever spell, Margolin,” he said. “But easy to stop.”

He turned his eerie, silver eyes on Ned. “Is he yours?” he asked Margolin. “How would you like a lizard for an apprentice?”

Shamandra raised his left hand.

Ned's breath caught in his throat. The reflecting glass! Where was it?

There it was. On the floor where he had dropped it during the
Darkness of Death
spell.

Shamandra pointed a long, slender finger.

Ned snatched the mirror off the floor.

He raised it. Aimed it at Shamandra.

But the mirror slipped from his cold, sweaty hand.

And shattered at Ned's feet.

“
Nooooooooo!
” He uttered a horrified cry as he felt his body shrinking.

His vision began to blur. He could feel his heartbeat slowing…slowing….

His body so low now…so low. He stood on four scaly, brown legs and blinked up at the red robe and hood.

I'm a lizard
, Ned thought, his dry tongue shooting out of his slack jaw. He did it! Shamandra changed me into a lizard.

Margolin stared down at Ned, his mouth open, eyes wide. “I knew it!” he cried. “I
knew
you would turn him into a lizard!”

“And I'm going to turn you into something even lower!” Shamandra promised. “Your evil has ruled the kingdom long enough. My powers are greater than yours. Now I will be the kingdom's ruling sorcerer, with all its rewards!”

Margolin tossed his head back and laughed. “I'm laughing at you, Shamandra!” he said. “See? I'm laughing in your face!” He shook his head and laughed some more.

“Good-bye, you old fool!” Shamandra cried. He waved both hands at Margolin.

Margolin stopped laughing. He pointed a finger and began to chant.

Too late.

Shamandra clicked his fingers. Once. Twice.

It was all over in a second. No smoke or roar of explosions.

Margolin let out a startled squeak. And shrank to the floor.

A bug. A fat, black bug.

In a second Shamandra had shrunk his rival into a fat beetle.

The floor shook as Shamandra strode across the room. He raised his shiny black boot and brought the heel down and ground the bug into the floor.

Then he turned to the quivering lizard in front of the table.

Here he comes
, Ned told himself, watching the silvery eyes inside the red hood.
He has won. Shamandra is victorious. What will he do now?

Ned watched the shiny black boots grow larger as the sorcerer approached.

Shamandra stopped in front of the lizard. He leaned over, narrowing his eerie eyes, studying Ned.

Is he going to stomp me too? Ned wondered.

Is he going to flatten me under his heel as he did Margolin?

Ned tensed, ready to run the second Shamandra raised his boot.

Instead, the red-robed sorcerer pointed to the lizard and chanted four strange words in a low whisper.

Ned felt himself start to grow. Rise up…up.

A second later he stood before Shamandra. He examined his arms, his legs, smoothed his hands over his cheeks, tugged his hair.

A boy again.

Himself again. I'm Ned!

“Thank you!” he said to Shamandra, with a slight bow.

Shamandra pushed back the red hood and grinned at Ned. “Thank
you
, Ned,” he said. He slapped Ned cheerily on the back. “Thank you for letting me into the castle. Thank you for dreaming up this whole wonderful plan.”

Ned had always been a dreamer, a trickster. But this was his greatest moment. He clapped his hands and did a little dance, a dance of sheer joy.

“Margolin was a fool!” he cried. “Did he really think I could watch him for two years and not learn any of his magic? Did he really think I wasn't smart enough to learn how to change bacon into snakes or a stone floor into liquid?”

Shamandra laughed. “Forget about Margolin. He is the past. He is gone forever.”

Ned shook his fists triumphantly above his head. “The castle is ours! The magic is ours now! I've been poor my whole life. Poor and ragged and hungry. But no more. No more! I'm the great sorcerer now!”

“Yes, yes!” Shamandra cheered. “It will be wonderful! We will be wealthy and powerful! We will make history!”

He slapped Ned on the back again. “But first, let's celebrate, boy. It's an amazing day! We fooled the great sorcerer. Let's go out and enjoy the sunshine. Let's breathe the fresh, spring air.”

“No,” Ned replied sternly. He made his way to the table. “No time for that now, Shamandra. We must get to work.”

As Ned poured blue and purple liquids into a bowl, Shamandra's words came back to him.
We will be wealthy and powerful! We will make history!

He is wrong, Ned thought.
We
will not be wealthy.
We
will not be powerful.

“Shamandra, come here,” he said, unable to keep a smile from spreading over his face. “Let me show you an amazing vanishing spell I learned.”

INTRODUCTION

ILLUSTRATED BY GARY KELLEY

I
magine a New England inn--a beautiful, old house with endless carpeted halls and dozens of luxurious rooms. A swimming pool, tennis courts, and lush gardens. A nice place to vacation, I thought. But there was something eerie about the place: I was the only guest.

The only person in the pool. The only one in the restaurant. And everywhere I went, I could feel the eyes of the staff members watching me. In the middle of the night I lay awake in bed, listening to the silence. I sat up when I heard a key turn in the lock. My door creaked open. And I heard a voice whisper, “
My room…my room…
”

The door closed again, but I never got to sleep. Who was that? What did he want? The next morning I was still the only guest!

That inn gave me the idea for this story. It's about a girl who finds herself all alone in a creepy, old inn--except for one other guest she wishes had never appeared….

T
he car bumped
up the gravel path to the inn at the top of the rocky hill. Jillian groaned. “This can't be it, Mom. It can't be. Look at this place.”

Mrs. Warner stopped the car in front of an old sign swaying in the wind. The words
NIGHT INN
were etched in the wood. But after
NIGHT
someone had scrawled
MARE
in black paint, making the sign read:
NIGHT
MARE
INN
.

“It
looks
like a haunted house in a horror movie!” Jillian grumbled.

Jillian's mother sighed. “The inn was beautiful once. My family came here every autumn when I was a little girl.”

She parked the car a few feet from the front doorway. “They didn't tell me the inn needed this much work. I guess that's why it's for sale at such a good price.”

Jillian stared at the broken shingles, the shutters tilting at all angles, the cracked windows. A gray cat sat on the rotted front porch. The cat gazed at Jillian and let out a hiss.

Were she and her mother really going to move here and run this inn? The thought made Jillian shudder.

“This place could bring back my nightmares,” she whispered, pushing open the car door.

“Don't say that!” Mrs. Warner scolded sharply. “You haven't had a nightmare in months. You're fourteen now, Jilly. You've grown up so much over the past year. You're past those nightmares now.”

The previous spring, after her father had died, Jillian had had terrifying nightmares. Night after night she had woken up to the sounds of her own screams. When the nightmares
had finally stopped, Jillian felt as if she were starting life all over again.

Mrs. Warner tightened the scarf draped around her shoulders. “It's always been my dream to come back here, Jillian. For twenty years I've fantasized about owning this place.” Her shoes crunched over the gravel walk. “With a lot of hard work, it can be beautiful again.”

The front door creaked open, and a young woman stepped out. She was tall and slender with a pretty, smiling face. Her black hair was tied back in a short ponytail. She wore a baggy red-and-black flannel shirt over denim jeans, torn at both knees.

“Mrs. Warner?” She walked quickly along the cracked concrete of the front walk. “I'm Priscilla. The real estate agent probably told you about me. I'm the caretaker.”

Caretaker? Jillian thought. She looks a few years older than me. Isn't she really young to be a caretaker?

“It's nice to meet you, Priscilla,” Mrs. Warner said brightly. “This is my daughter, Jillian.”

Priscilla shook Jillian's hand. She had a warm, friendly smile. Her brown eyes flashed as they studied Jillian. “You probably think this place is a dump,” she said, taking Jillian's canvas bag from her. “Well, you're right. It is.”

“How did you get to be the caretaker?” Jillian asked. “I mean, why are you here? The place is closed, right?”

Priscilla sighed. “Actually, my father was the caretaker here for thirty-five years. He retired to Florida last year after the inn closed. But the owner lets me live in the cottage in back, and he pays me a nice salary to watch over the place.”

Mrs. Warner pulled a suitcase from the backseat of the car. Jillian followed Priscilla to the front door.

“It's been pretty lonely,” Priscilla confessed to Jillian. “I'm really glad someone is buying the inn.”

Jillian tripped over a board that had come loose on the porch. “Ow!”

“Watch your step,” Priscilla warned. “I've been meaning to fix up the front here. But it's just more work than I can handle.”

She led them inside. “Careful. Some of these floorboards are loose.”

Jillian stepped out of the bright sunshine into a dark, dreary hallway. Most of the lights inside the house were burned out. The ragged carpet had big wet spots and smelled of mildew.

“Are--are there rats?” Jillian asked.

Priscilla shook her head. “Not too many.”

She stopped in front of room 17B and shoved a key into the lock. “I fixed this room up for you,” she said. “New curtains and everything.” She turned to Jillian. “I also hooked up a TV. We don't have cable, but you can get a few stations.”

“Thanks,” Jillian replied uncertainly.

The room was clean and pretty. But really small. There was only one bed. She and her mom would have to share.

“Anything you need, I'll be out back,” Priscilla said, smiling at Jillian. “Maybe we can go into town later. I'll show you around.”

Jillian thanked her. She watched Priscilla walk down the hall. Then she closed the door and turned to her mother.
“Look at this place. We have to get out of here!” she cried. “Mom…this is a bad idea. I mean
really
bad. We have to go home.
RIGHT NOW
!”

“Calm down, Jilly. Take a deep breath,” her mother said. She tested the bed with her hand. The springs creaked. “We only have to stay for one night. I'll go into town right now and close the deal. We can leave first thing in the morning.”

“No, Mom--” Jillian protested.

“You never have to see this place again until it's all fixed up,” Mrs. Warner promised. She checked her watch. “I'm late. They're waiting for me at the real estate office.”

“Mom…you mean you're just going to leave me here?”

“Jilly, there's nothing for you to do in town. Besides, you've got piles of homework, remember?”

“How can I do homework?” Jillian asked. “There's no desk.”

“Then watch TV.”

Mrs. Warner grabbed the car keys and hurried out the door.

“Please, Jillian. I'll be back in a few hours, and we'll get some dinner. Why don't you go exploring? There might be some real treasures left in these rooms.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Jillian rolled her eyes and closed the door to the room.

Jillian read her government textbook for a while. But the wooden chair was hard and uncomfortable. She slammed the book shut. “I'm so bored,” she sighed, climbing into the creaking bed. She settled back and shut her eyes. “So bored… This is
so not fair…
”

 

The floorboards groaned under Jillian's shoes as she made her way down long, dimly lit halls. The air felt damp and smelled of stale cigarette smoke.

She opened doors and peered into rooms. But most of the lights didn't work, so she couldn't see much.

Humming to herself, Jillian turned a corner. She held her breath and listened. What was that sound? Was it the cat padding down the hallway?

Jillian listened carefully.

She heard the sound again. A fluttering sound? A bat?

I think I'll go back to my room, she decided. I've explored enough.

But which way was back?

She had turned too many corners, wandered down too many long, dark halls with identical doors along both sides.

She heard the fluttering sound again. Closer this time.

A chill tingled the back of her neck. There had always been bats in her nightmares, flying at her, hissing, red eyes glowing, brushing their veiny wings against her face.

Jillian turned and began hurrying down the hall.

Did I come this way? Did I?

She stopped when she heard the cough.

Priscilla? Yes! Great! She'll lead me back to my room.

She heard another cough. Then the creak of floorboards. She spun around. “Priscilla? Priscilla? It's me--Jillian Warner.”

No reply.

Then she saw a sliver of light seeping from under the door of a room at the end of the hall.

Another chill ran down her back.

“Priscilla? Are you in there?” Jillian walked up to the door and pressed her ear against the dry wood.

Silence.

“Priscilla…” she called out again.

A man's voice, deep and sharp: “
GO AWAY
!”

It's not Priscilla, Jillian realized with a gasp.

“Go away! Please!” the man shouted from the other side of the door. “Just go away!”

“But--but--” Jillian sputtered, confused. “Who are you? What are you
doing
here?”

She leaned against the door to hear the man's reply. To her shock, the door flew open. She tumbled into the room.

A young man stood hunched over a bed, covering it neatly with a dark blue quilt. Papers and books were stacked on a small desk in the corner.

“P-please go away” he whispered. His red-rimmed eyes gaped wide.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Jillian cried again. He seems more frightened than I am, she thought.

The man took a step back, stumbling over a leg of the bed.

“My name--it's James,” he replied, clasping his hands together tightly. “Please go away. For your own good. Please--before it's too late.”

“I don't understand,” Jillian said, crossing her arms in front of her to stop from shaking.

James swept a hand nervously through his greasy, tangled hair. “Listen carefully. I'm warning you--leave this inn before tomorrow night!”

He looked so frightened, so pitiful, that Jillian felt braver. “I'm not going anywhere unless you tell me why.”

James uttered a sharp cry and gestured wildly with both hands. “I'll tell you why!” he screamed. “Tomorrow night is a full moon
…and I am a werewolf!
”

Jillian laughed before she could stop herself.

The young man was breathing rapidly now, his chest heaving up and down. “I'm trying to save your life,” he said. “I'm a werewolf. Every month, before the night of the full moon, I leave my family and hide here in this inn. I lock myself in this room--to make sure I don't hurt anyone.”

Jillian felt her throat tighten. He's serious, she realized. He really believes what he's telling me.

“I--I become a raging animal,” James said, turning his eyes to the moonlight pouring in through the window. “And then I could tear you to bits. I can't help it.”

Swallowing hard, Jillian stared wide-eyed at him.

He let out a long, sad sigh. Then he pushed Jillian to the door. Startled, she jerked away from him.

“Just go,” James said. “For your own safety. At ten o'clock tomorrow night the moon will be at its peak--and I will change into a roaring beast.”

“I'm leaving,” Jillian told him. “You don't have to worry. Tomorrow we'll be long gone by ten. Mom and I are leaving this horrible place first thing in the morning.”

“Good,” he said. His red-rimmed eyes burned into hers. “Please go. I really don't want to hurt you.”

She spun away from him and ran, her shoes thudding loudly over the ragged carpet. Breathing hard, she turned a
corner and then another, and finally found her room. She burst into the room, slammed the door behind her, and with a frightened cry threw herself onto the bed.

 

“You fell asleep early?” Mrs. Warner's voice floated into Jillian's mind. Jillian sat up in bed, feeling dazed, not sure where she was.