Spell of the Sorcerer's Skull (7 page)

Johnny fidgeted and glanced around. He felt silly, but he reminded himself that Father Higgins was in on this too. But where was he? Probably he was in the sacristy, which was the room where the priest got dressed for Mass and other services. Maybe he had decided that the whole thing was a bad idea and had therefore gone home. Johnny hoped that this was not the case. He fidgeted some more. He drummed his fingers on his legs and walked back and forth, humming softly under his breath. At last he heard the sound of the sacristy door opening and closing. He looked up and saw Father Higgins walking toward him. He was wearing a long white gown called an alb, and around his neck was a kind of embroidered purple scarf called a stole. In one hand he carried a tarnished silver holy water sprinkler. In the other he carried a small pad of paper and a pencil. Johnny was surprised to see that the priest was just as nervous as he was—he kept glancing toward the back of the church to see if anyone was watching.

"Here," said Father Higgins gruffly, and he shoved the pad and pencil at Johnny. He turned toward Saint Anthony and bowed and then walked closer to the statue, raised his hands in a gesture of supplication, and rattled off a prayer in Latin. Johnny did not understand much of it, but he heard the words
Sanctus Antonius
several times, and he figured that the priest was calling on Saint Anthony to hear their prayers. Raising the sprinkler, Father Higgins shook drops of holy water over the base of the statue. Some water fell on the burning candles, which hissed loudly. Again the priest bowed, and once more he turned to Johnny.

"All right, here's what you do," he said brusquely, tapping the pad with his finger. "Write down your petition, fold the paper over twice, and hand it to me."

Johnny raised the pencil and wrote:

 

Dear Saint Anthony:
 

Please help us to find Professor Childermass. Please hear us, and do not fail us. Amen.

Yours truly,
 

John Dixon

 

Johnny tore the sheet from the pad and folded it twice. He handed the note to Father Higgins, who asked him to hold the holy water sprinkler for a minute. While Johnny watched, the priest edged in between the candle rack and the statue's pedestal. Reaching up, he placed a brawny hand on the front of the statue and tilted it slightly back. With his other hand he stuffed the note in under the base of the statue. Then, gently, he lowered the statue back down. Johnny heard a soft
chink
as the statue came to rest on its pedestal again. Grunting a little, Father Higgins squeezed himself out from behind the candle rack and walked back to where Johnny was standing. He took the sprinkler from Johnny, showered the statue with more water, and then said another Latin prayer.

"There!"
he said wearily, folding his arms and stepping back to watch the play of candle shadows on the statue's pallid face. "I didn't think I could remember all that razzmatazz, but I did! And if you
ever
tell anyone in the parish that we did this, I'll have your hide! I think Bishop Monohan would go through the roof if he knew I was such a slave to mummery and flummery!"

Johnny was genuinely grateful for what Father Higgins had done tonight. Whether or not the ritual worked, at least they had tried. However, there were still some lingering questions in his mind.

"What do we do now, Father?" he asked. "I mean, how do we know if what we did worked or not?"

Father Higgins sighed. "I might have known you'd ask that! Well, we're supposed to wait three days and then come back and see what—if anything—is written on the paper. If the saint answers us, he will answer us in that way."

Johnny looked at the priest doubtfully. "Has... has this ever worked before? Did anyone ever—"

"No," said the priest with a mournful shake of his head. "Not that I ever heard of, anyway. But as I told you the other day, there's no harm in—"

Suddenly there was a loud sound, like a pistol shot. A door at the back of the church blew open, and it banged loudly against the wall. A cold wind blew in, and the candle flames flickered. Johnny jumped. With a wild look on his face, he peered into the darkness, and then he turned and gaped at Father Higgins. The expression on the priest's face was absolutely unreadable, but his eyes were gleaming. And Johnny wondered:
Was this a sign? Would their prayer really be answered?

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

For the time being Johnny was not getting any answers. "Stupid door blew open again," muttered Father Higgins, and he stamped on down the aisle to close it.

Three days they had to wait. For Johnny, three days had seldom passed so slowly. Thursday dragged by, and so did Friday. On Friday evening, to make himself feel better, Johnny called up Father Higgins and had a long conversation with him. He had not wanted to talk about the ghostly jack-o'-lantern before for fear that the priest might laugh at him. But now he decided to lay the whole thing out on the table. He told Father Higgins what he had seen, and he described the night when he burst into the professor's house and found that he had vanished. And he added that he was afraid that evil supernatural powers had had something to do with the professor's disappearance. He also mentioned the Childermass clock and told Father Higgins a little about its strange history. But he did not mention the ghostly midnight vision he had had or the skull—these were things that he still wanted to keep secret. Father Higgins listened gravely to what Johnny had to say, and he did not scoff or laugh. He said that Johnny was probably right, that deviltry was almost certainly involved, and he added encouragingly that the powers of light might come to their aid. They'd know on Saturday night.

Finally Saturday evening arrived. There was no church service scheduled for that night, so Johnny said that he was going to light a candle in memory of his mother. When he got to St. Michael's church, he immediately scooted around the block to the rectory, which was where Father Higgins lived. He pushed the door bell, and soon the priest came, holding in his hand a bunch of keys to all the various doors and locked cupboards of St. Michael's church. Father Higgins looked tense and crabby.

"Well," he said, scowling, "I suppose we might as well go see what we can see. I warn you, though: There may be nothing written on the sheet at all—nothing, that is, but the message you wrote the other night."

Johnny had already prepared himself for disappointment. This was a silly, crazy thing they were doing, and he knew it. He told himself not to expect too much.

Father Higgins and Johnny entered the church by a side door. The old building smelled of wax and incense, and the air was clammy, as it always was, even in the middle of the summer. All around them the dark, empty church loomed. Half a dozen candles burned in the slanted, wax-encrusted iron rack in front of Saint Anthony. As Father Higgins walked toward the statue, Johnny could feel himself growing tense. The priest slid between the candle rack and the pedestal and placed one large, hairy hand on the front of the statue. Johnny heard him mutter something as he tilted the heavy statue back. His fingers were on the folded paper now, and he was yanking it out. Down came the statue again, gently clunking into place. Father Higgins squeezed himself out from behind the rack; he walked toward Johnny with the paper in his hand. The suspense was unbearable. Johnny clenched his fists and felt his nails digging into the palms of his hands. With maddening slowness Father Higgins unfolded the paper. He looked at it, and then he let out a loud exclamation.

"Good God! Come and look at this, would you!"

Johnny edged closer and peered over the priest's arm. Across the note that he had neatly printed was writing. It was large, scrawly, and loopy script, and it reminded Johnny of the marks he had made once when he'd tried to write while holding a pencil in his teeth. At first the writing looked like total nonsense, but Johnny soon realized that there were words and phrases. With a little effort he was able to make out what they said:

 

Where the bays run together

A great reckoning in a little room

 

Father Higgins's jaw sagged. "Lord!" he whispered. "I would never in my wildest dreams have believed—" Suddenly he stopped speaking. His eyes narrowed, and he turned around and peered into the gloom.

"What's the matter, Father?" asked Johnny, frightened.

"Oh, it was just a thought that occurred to me," muttered the priest. "I wondered if maybe somebody had been hiding in the church and watching when we put this note under the statue. If they had been, they might've taken the note out and written this."

Johnny's heart sank. He knew that this might be the real, true explanation behind the mysterious writing. But he did not want to believe it. "Gee, Father," he said hopefully, "I think the church was empty that night, wasn't it? I mean, didn't we check it out?"

The priest shook his head. "No, John. That's just the trouble—we did
not
check it out. There could've been somebody up in the choir loft or squatting down behind the pews. You know Raymond—that feeble-minded guy that works at the gas station across the street? Well, he could've been in here. He ducks into the church sometimes and does funny things, like movin' the candles around on the altar. And now that I think about it, that might explain the front door bangin' open the other night. I wonder... "

Johnny was beginning to feel desperate. If Father Higgins didn't believe this was real supernatural writing, then who would help him find the professor? "I... I don't think R-Raymond could've... m-moved the statue... ." said Johnny in a voice that was beginning to tremble. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he could feel his lower lip quivering. He didn't want to break down and cry, but he was afraid he was going to.

Father Higgins turned to Johnny, and his harsh scowl softened into a sympathetic, sad smile. He really was a kind-hearted man, and he realized how much Johnny wanted to believe that the writing had been done by supernatural powers.

"Look, John," said the priest softly, putting his arm around him. "I'm not tryin' to be mean to you. I'm just tryin' to test out this thing and see if maybe there's an ordinary, everyday explanation to it. I believe in miracles, but they sure don't happen all the time. We've got to keep our heads if we're going to get anywhere."

Johnny was crying now—he couldn't help it. The tears flowed freely, and he dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief. "Does... does that mean you're not gonna help me anymore?" he sobbed.

"Of
course
not!" said the priest loudly and firmly. "Whatever gave you
that
idea? I want to find the professor just as much as you do!" He paused and rubbed his chin, and then he looked at the scrawling on the paper again. Suddenly he grinned. He laughed aloud, and the sound echoed in the vaulted ceiling of the old church.

Johnny took his handkerchief away from his face and blinked. "What... what is it?" he asked in a voice that was thick from crying.

"Oh, nothing much," said the priest, still chuckling. "Only I realized all of a sudden that I'd have to be out of my mind to think that Raymond did this! That second sentence there, about the great reckoning in the little room. It's from a play by Shakespeare. Old Raymond might be able to read and write, but he sure didn't write
this!
I ought to've seen that right away!"

Johnny's heart leaped. He was feeling hopeful again. "Does that mean the writing is really from... from... "

Father Higgins cut him off with a shake of his head. "No. It doesn't mean anything. Somebody else could've done this for all we know. But I don't think we ought to throw this paper away. No, indeed! We ought to study it and think about it and take it very, very seriously. Because you never know! It just might be a miracle from Saint Anthony! And if it is, it could help us find the professor. Anyway, we've got to take the help that's given to us. Like they say, beggars can't be choosers!"

 

Johnny went home that night thinking that maybe—just maybe—there was some reason to hope. It was possible that Saint Anthony or some higher power had spoken. But whoever it was, he or she had not spoken very clearly.
Where the bays run together
—what could that mean? It seemed to refer to a place, but where? There were lots of bays on the surface of the globe. Johnny knew the names of some of them: Hudson Bay, the Bay of Fundy, Corpus Christi Bay. Was there some place where two bays of water ran into one? He could start combing through an atlas, but it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Then Johnny thought some more: He had heard horses referred to as
bays.
They were horses that were reddish-brown in color. Did the clue mean that they should look for some field full of reddish-brown horses? Then there was the other clue:
a great reckoning in a little room.
The "little room" had to be the dollhouse room in the Childermass clock. But except for this little glimmer of meaning, the phrase meant absolutely nothing to Johnny. He turned it over and over in his mind, but the more he thought, the more meaningless the phrase became.

By the time he got to his front door, Johnny's hopeful mood had evaporated. He remembered the things he had read about the Greek oracles, which had given people mysterious messages just to drive them bats. Maybe the messages had been sent by the devil and not by Saint Anthony. Maybe they were stuck up against a dead-end wall.

The next day was Sunday, and Johnny went to church with his gramma and grampa as usual. After Mass everybody filed out of the church. Some went home right away, but others stood around outside and talked with their friends. Gramma and Grampa got into a conversation with Mrs. McGinnis, a silly old lady who was the head of the Catholic Daughters. Johnny couldn't stand Mrs. McGinnis, and so he just stood by, fidgeting nervously and waiting for his grandparents to finish talking. But as he was glancing aimlessly this way and that, Johnny saw Willie Prine elbowing his way through the crowd. Willie was a tall, dopey-looking kid with thick glasses, and he had been one of the altar boys at today's Mass. He was still wearing his long red cassock, and he was grinning from ear to ear. Johnny wondered what he was so pleased about.