The Nightmarys (33 page)

resist what it wants you to do.”

“And what would that be?”

“To use it,” said Abigail. She squinted at him,

her eyes like lasers. “You were going to use it,

Timothy. I know you were.” Timothy didn’t

know what to say. She was right. “After

everything we’ve gone through? After

everything we’ve gone through? After

everything we’ve seen?”

She stepped toward him, as if she had the

power to hurt him, as if she might truly want

to. She didn’t look quite right. She’d always

been intense, but even when they’d fought,

horribly, she’d never appeared to be so … self-

righteous.

“I know,” said Timothy. “I came back up

here to smash that thing. If you don’t believe

me, then do it yourself.” Timothy held out the

hammer to Abigail. She took another step

toward him but ignored his of ering.

“Gramma’s the only one I can trust with this.

She’s the one who should destroy it.”

“But … how do I know that you’re strong

enough to resist what it wants?” Timothy

asked.

Abigail stepped toward him, her mouth

pul ed up in a strange smile.

He suddenly understood what was happening

here. His skin went ice cold. “Abigail, I think

you should go,” he whispered. He tried to step

you should go,” he whispered. He tried to step

past her toward his bedroom. “Go do whatever

you need to do.”

She blocked his way. “No,” she spat. She

would not let him pass. In fact, she reached

behind her and shut his bedroom door. “You’re

coming with me.”

“Abigail …” He didn’t know what to think

anymore. Al he knew was that he needed to

get into his bedroom. He had to check under

his pil ow. The jawbone was stil lying there,

hiding from him, and was not in fact in

Abigail’s fist.

Abigail shouted, then raised her hand as if to

strike him. Timothy cringed against the

banister, then stumbled backward toward his

parents’ bedroom. Abigail didn’t look like

herself anymore. Her black hair had grown past

her shoulders and had begun to show white.

Long strands of it had caught on her face, a

soiled veil. Her sweatshirt began to separate,

fal ing into tat ers of string toward the oor,

looking like dirty pieces of lacy cobweb.

looking like dirty pieces of lacy cobweb.

Behind her, Timothy’s bedroom door burst

open. Timothy gasped. Girls now crowded at

the entry as if trying to catch a glimpse of what

was about to happen. The Nightmarys had

returned. The upstairs was suddenly l ed with

their singsong chat er. They watched as Abigail

continued her slow approach. Some of the girls

scratched at the wooden doorframe with their

long fingernails, as if trying to sharpen them.

Abigail’s scream had turned into a siren wail,

so loud, Timothy felt as if his eardrums might

burst. She came closer and closer. The hammer

slipped out of Timothy’s hand as he turned

around and dashed toward his parents’

bedroom.

Once inside, he slammed the door shut and

locked it. He stared at the dark wood, listening

to the scrambling, scratching noises that were

coming from the other side, out in the hal way.

Abigail was not here. She was probably at

home, in bed. What was happening now was

caused by the curse. The jawbone was trying to

caused by the curse. The jawbone was trying to

protect itself. Timothy knew it would do

anything to survive—make him see whatever

scared him most. And right now, that was

losing his friend, having her turn against him.

Again, Abigail’s statement popped into his

head: I know they’l kil you … because I’m

terri ed that they wil . Before, Timothy had

believed that wasn’t possible, that the curse had

merely created il usions, that the only real

danger he’d been in was from himself. But

now, if this was to be a bat le for survival,

Timothy wondered if the jawbone might try to

raise the stakes a bit.

Lit le tricks, he remembered. Zilpha’s advice.

If the Nightmarys were what the jawbone had

sent to stop him, then he needed to nd a way

to beat the Nightmarys once and for al .

The door rat led. Screeching, the creatures on

the other side sounded like they might just be

able to tear it down.

Timothy glanced around for something,

anything, that might stop them. But when he

anything, that might stop them. But when he

turned toward the darkest corner of the room

near his parents’ closet, he noticed a tal patch

of cobweb. A dark shape shifted behind it. The

Nightmarys were finding another way in.

Before he could think to stop himself,

Timothy leapt at the web. He tore the patch

away from the ceiling and the wal s. It came

away as easily as the spiderwebs that he and

Stuart sometimes found stretched across their

front porches. Timothy’s arms were now

covered with a strange sticky substance, but he

quickly brushed most of it o . The long strands

fel to the oor in a dingy lump. The dark

shifting shape that had been forming behind

the web faded away into shadow, then

disappeared altogether. Timothy spun but

stumbled against the closet door when he saw

another patch of web appear across the

bedroom next to his parents’ bed.

Turning toward the closet, Timothy grappled

with the knob, then swung the door open.

Lit le tricks. There had to be something in here

Lit le tricks. There had to be something in here

he could use to stop this. Rows of hanging

clothes stared back at him. Al useless. Then,

way up on the top shelf, something caught his

eye. His mother kept cleaning supplies in here.

Jumping as high as he could reach, Timothy

managed to catch the tip of a feather duster

between his bandaged ngers. He turned

around.

One of the creepy girls stood behind him, her

screech piercing his eardrums, her claws

reaching forward as if to tear him apart.

Before she came too close, he swiped at her

face. Using the duster as if it were a sword,

Timothy waved his weapon until her cobweb

veil became entangled in the feathers. After a

few swipes, al that was left of her head was a

cloud of dust motes. Between her col arbone, a

black hole coughed and wheezed, and a musty

stench burped forth. Disgusted, Timothy

covered his mouth. The girl shuddered; then, to

Timothy’s surprise, she simply unraveled into

longs pieces of string and lace and dirt, which

longs pieces of string and lace and dirt, which

piled at his feet and disappeared.

Outside, the scratching grew louder. Timothy

moved cautiously toward the bedroom door.

He counted to three, then managed to swing it

open. The girls rushed him the same way they

had at the house on Ash Tree Lane, but now

Timothy was prepared. He ducked and swung

down the landing, smashing and slashing his

way past them. The feather duster was his own

Excalibur. With each step he took, pieces of the

phantom girls piled up on the oor behind

him. Every time he took o one of their heads,

another girl shrieked in surprise and ducked

away. It was as if the curse couldn’t believe

he’d figured out a way to beat it.

He quickly made his way down the landing

toward his own bedroom. Slipping inside, he

slammed the door shut and moved his desk

chair in front of it, locking the rest of the

Nightmarys outside. Panting, he turned toward

his bed. Clutching the feather duster painful y,

he approached his pil ow with caution, as if

he approached his pil ow with caution, as if

another nightmare might leap out from

underneath his sheets to at ack him. He

managed to lift the pil ow away from his

mat ress. The jawbone stil lay inconspicuously

underneath. Something inside the black tooth

glowed violently, angrily. Timothy was afraid

to touch the thing, as if whatever control it had

exerted over him earlier might take hold once

more. Using his weapon, Timothy simply

knocked the smal object to the cold wooden

oor, where it eventual y rat led into stil ness

beside his nightstand. He dropped the duster.

Then, grabbing his thick history textbook from

his nearby desk, Timothy knelt down next to

the bone. As he raised the book over his head,

Timothy thought, This is for you, Ben. Then he

brought his arms down as hard as he could.

GRADUATION DAY

ENDINGS

[FROM THE NEW STARKHAM RECORD—OBITUARIES]

BYRON FLANDERS—FORMER NEW

STARKHAM DISTRICT ATTORNEY

… Mr. Flanders had recently su ered a heart

attack and passed away at New Starkham Hospital

before his surgery … Known best for his un appable

work ethic and strong personality, Flanders strove

tirelessly to protect the citizens of New Starkham

from those whom he had once referred to as “The

Real Monsters.” He is survived by his wife and three

children.

Percival Ankh closed the newspaper with a

shudder. He hadn’t thought of his old friend

Flanders in quite some time. “Do you want to

Flanders in quite some time. “Do you want to

at end the service?” his wife asked.

“I don’t think so,” he answered quietly. It had

been during a dinner with Flanders many years

ago that the topic of Christian Hesselius’s

abandoned o ce had been raised. Flanders had

been the prosecutor in the case and had asked

if his friend believed in ghosts. That had been

the seed that had sparked Percival’s fear of the

old professor—and the subsequent raising of

the wal that had sealed o the room in the

library.

After the horrible experience at the birthday

party several weeks ago, Percival wanted once

more to forget the old stories that had haunted

him for so long. He had good reason to forget

too. At the restaurant, his son had found Ankh

lying on the bathroom oor, weeping. The old

man never told anyone what he’d seen in there.

“Are you sure?” asked his wife. “He was your

friend.”

Get ing up from the dining room table, he

tossed the newspaper onto the oor and said,

tossed the newspaper onto the oor and said,

“I’d rather just stay here with you, my dear.”

Careful y bending down, he kissed his wife’s

cheek.

She smiled and pat ed his head. “Whatever

you like,” she answered.