The Nightmarys (24 page)

“That’s a fantastic idea,” said Jack. “I’ve got

quite a mess to clean up.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Harwood,” said Zilpha. “I

real y didn’t mean—”

“No!” said the old man. “Don’t … touch …

anything …”

“I’m an old, clumsy woman,” said Zilpha, her

voice moving directly below the oor now,

back in the foyer. “I—I real y didn’t mean any

harm.”

harm.”

“I’m sure you never do,” said the old man.

“But that doesn’t help me now, does it?”

“I suppose not,” said Zilpha. “Maybe I can

pay for it?”

The old man laughed. “The artifact is

irreplaceable. How much do you think

something like this is worth? Believe me, the

answer is not a sum total! I cannot simply send

you a bil , Zelda!”

“It’s … Zilpha,” said Georgia quietly.

“Zelda, Zilpha!” said Jack. “Whatever! Just

get out.”

“Now, Johnson,” said Georgia, distraught.

“You’re upset. We’l go. You drink some milk.

Lie down. You’l feel bet er.” The women were

outside now, possibly on the porch. Timothy

ran to the window, climbed onto the desk, and

watched them make their way through the

front garden and out the gate. Al hope was

leaving with them. Abigail stood silently beside

him, watching them go. Downstairs, Jack

started to chuckle.

38.

The light in the at ic grew dim as the sun

moved closer to the western horizon. Blue sky

continued to stare at them through the

octagonal window, but this clear weather was

no comfort; in fact, it made things worse. Jack

had left the house and driven away a while

ago, leaving Timothy and Abigail alone to

worry.

To kil time, Timothy examined the at ic

door once more. Al he learned was that his

hand stil hurt. The door’s hinges were tight,

and the lock felt solid; then again, so had the

window when he’d tried to break it. Timothy’s

gym bag was down in the kitchen, so the only

weapon they had was Johnson Harwood’s rat y

copy of The Clue of the Incomplete Corpse,

and only if the old man came back could they

smack him with it.

“There’s got to be some way out of here,”

“There’s got to be some way out of here,”

said Timothy. When Abigail didn’t answer, he

looked at her sit ing on the desk. She hung her

head and hugged her rib cage. “Don’t you

think?” She remained silent. Timothy stood.

“Come on,” he said. “What happened to us

being heroes?”

Abigail laughed, but it was not a happy

sound.

“Are you worried that he went after your

grandmother?” said Timothy. “Because I have a

feeling she can take care of herself.”

“Oh, you do?” said Abigail, tucking her chin

closer to her chest. “Then why am I so freaked

out?”

Timothy crossed the room. He took both of

Abigail’s hands into his own, as best he could.

“Abigail,” he whispered. “We can control it.

That’s why we’re stil okay. We are get ing out

of here, no mat er what.”

“No mat er what?” she asked. Then, eyes

wide, Abigail suddenly pul ed away. “Shhh,”

she whispered. “And don’t turn around.” At her

she whispered. “And don’t turn around.” At her

word, he froze, goose bumps embracing every

inch of him. Then he heard a sound that made

everything even worse. The door hinges

squeaked, and he couldn’t stop from spinning.

The door had opened a crack. Had it even

been locked? The room was l ed with violet

haze—remnants of the light through the

window—but in the darkest corners, thick

layers of dirty cobwebs clung from the oor to

the sloped wal s, wavering in a slight draft.

“Were those there before?” Timothy

whispered.

“What do you think?”

“I’m gonna go with … no?”

“How fast do you think we can make it to the

door?” Abigail whispered.

“I’m not so sure I want to make it to the door

now,” said Timothy. “Something on the other

side opened it.”

“Yeah, but something on this side wants us to

leave.”

leave.”

Timothy strained his eyes. Smal dark shapes

shifted beyond the webs, pul ing the imsy

curtains away from the wal s. Holes grew as the

webs stretched to their breaking points. Al at

once, the dark shapes solidi ed, became smal ,

childlike bodies. Two gures stepped through

the webs, which clung to them like rot ing

veils. Mary Brown and Mary White? Abigail

and Timothy screamed, clutching at each other.

The door swung open. Instead of a tal old

man, another girl appeared in the doorway.

Her face was a blur. She wore a dress similar to

the others’, made of dirty white cobwebs, rags,

and lace, tied together with bits of string and

knot ed twine that dangled past her bare feet.

Timothy choked out, “The Nightmarys?”

Abigail did not answer, but instead grabbed his

arm and stepped forward. None of the girls

moved. “How come we’re both seeing them

now?”

“Maybe we’re both scared of them now.”

“Get out of here!” Timothy shouted at the

“Get out of here!” Timothy shouted at the

girls. “Leave us alone!”

“Shhh,” said the one in the doorway.

Abigail pul ed him toward the door. The two

gures in the shadows turned like clockwork to

watch them move through the room. As Abigail

slowly approached the girl who had opened

the door, more and more of them appeared

behind the patches of web, then stepped

through. The room was suddenly crowded, and

Timothy was get ing claustrophobic. “What …

are … we … doing?” Timothy said through a

clenched jaw.

“Get ing out of here,” Abigail whispered

back.

When they were several feet away from the

girl in the doorway, she stepped into the hal

and held out her hand, as if welcoming them to

their doom.

“Should we just walk by?” Timothy asked.

Abigail answered by pul ing him forward.

Timothy tried not to look as they crept past the

creature. He sensed her watching him. Out of

creature. He sensed her watching him. Out of

the corner of his eye, he could see her face

shifting, dissolving, and reassembling behind

the veil, unable to hold shape, like the gures

behind the cobwebs had done before they’d

emerged into the room.

Once on the landing, they tried to run toward

the stairs, but Timothy lost Abigail’s grip. When

he turned around, he realized the gure in the

doorway had stepped between them.

Remembering how his hands had passed

through zombie Ben last night, Timothy

wondered how solid the apparitions actual y

were. He reached out for Abigail, but she

slipped away from him. He stumbled, which

gave the creature time to block Abigail entirely.

But he bolted at the phantom girl anyway.

Before he made contact, the rest of the

cobwebbed girls rushed through the at ic

toward the doorway, arms raised, hands

reaching, ngers clutching, nails now sharp as

talons.

Timothy froze as Abigail screamed, “Stop!”

Timothy froze as Abigail screamed, “Stop!”

She panted. “They’l kil you. I know they wil ,

because I’m terri ed that they wil .” The

Nightmarys paused, crowded at the at ic door,

watching him. Were they only an il usion?

They looked so real. “Timothy, run!” Abigail

cried.

“I can’t leave you here,” he said.

The girl who was blocking Abigail stepped

aside, revealing the smal legion of specters

waiting beyond the doorframe. The grotesque

group broke forward, pushing through the door

and onto the landing, immediately separating

Timothy from Abigail. Now through their thin

cobweb veils he could see their faces, but he

couldn’t comprehend what he was looking at,

as if his brain wouldn’t let him see. Words

couldn’t describe the horror he felt as they

raced toward him.

“Get help!” Abigail cried. “Run!”

Inches away, the girls’ claws reached for his

throat. Timothy tripped backward down the

stairs, caught the railing, and steadied himself.

stairs, caught the railing, and steadied himself.

Taking three steps at a time, he made it to the

next landing before turning around, but Abigail

was gone. In her place, more and more of the

wretched creatures streamed from the at ic

door, barreling down the stairs toward him.

The stairwel l ed with the sound of strange

chat ering, unintel igible static, almost like

birdsong, as the Nightmarys communicated to

each other in their own secret language.

Timothy fel through a doorway behind him:

the hal with the closed doors. The mob swiftly

approached. Timothy grabbed the nearest knob

and turned it. The door swung outward, and he

slipped inside a dark closet. He peered around

the door but couldn’t see the bot om of the

stairs. The chat ering came closer, and the oor

began to shake as if a stampede of large

animals were approaching. As one of the girls

peeked in at him, Timothy slammed the door

shut. He held the knob as the building

shuddered and then set led into silence.

Even though he was terri ed to open the

Even though he was terri ed to open the

door, the absolute darkness inside the smal

space soon became unbearable. Slowly, with

his good hand, he turned the knob. A slice of

light appeared. The hal way was empty.

Abigail’s voice rang in his memory: They’l kil

you … because I’m terri ed that they wil .

Could these horrors actual y kil , or were the

cursed only in danger from themselves, like

Stuart, who’d inhaled the pool water? Timothy

realized that the Nightmarys had never touched

him. Sure, his hand hurt, but that was because

he’d actual y hit the window. That part had

been real; he knew the Nightmarys were not.

Abigail had been wrong; they could beat

these things, if they could beat their fear.

Through the railing, Timothy glanced into the

foyer below. Something slammed the front

door, and he froze. After a few seconds of

silence, he knew he was alone. He pul ed the

closet door open and rushed onto the landing.

He raced down the stairs. Bursting onto the

front porch, he glanced down the street. Except

front porch, he glanced down the street. Except

for the waning daylight, everything looked as it

had when they’d first arrived. Total y normal.

Abigail was gone, just like the old man had

predicted. But how had she disappeared?

She hadn’t, Timothy reasoned. Abigail had

been inside the mob of girls. The Nightmarys

must have surrounded her and ushered her

down the stairs right past him. They weren’t

coming for him; they were leaving with her.

But to where?

The place where your end wil come, the old

man had said.

The temple of the Chaos Tribe. Timothy

nal y understood. Jack had meant for Abigail

to be the next Delia! The bat ery. The soul-

charge for the incomplete corpse of the

Daughter of Chaos.

39.

By the time Timothy reached the next corner,

he felt faint. His hand hurt when he swung his

arm. But he had to nd Abigail. The thought of

what might be happening to her at that

moment nearly drove him mad.

Sure, he could ask a neighbor to cal the

police, but he felt that would only waste time.

Besides, how could he possibly explain

everything that was happening without

someone locking him in a straitjacket?

Down the hil , he ran faster than ever toward

his house. By the time he reached his front

yard, he had to stop and catch his breath.

Seconds later, something down the street

captured his at ention. Near the mouth of the

Dragon Stairs on Edgehil Road, a girl stood

perfectly stil . However, as Timothy squinted

into the fading daylight, the gure brie y

blurred, like smudged pencil, before solidifying

blurred, like smudged pencil, before solidifying

again.

With his lungs on re, Timothy slowly

crossed in front of his house to get a bet er