Fiendish Deeds (13 page)

M
y sword!” cried Byron miserably. “I lost my sword!”

It wasn’t the only thing lost, thought Joy with panic as the flashlight beam lit up another glistening line of muddy hummocks. She was certain they should have come across Madame Portia’s by now, but so far there was no sign of the submarine house. It was as if it had put down its periscope and dived.

The bog was impossibly dark, even darker than Spooking Cemetery on a moonless night. At least there the lights of Darlington always cast an inextinguishable glow. Here, nothing penetrated the heavy woods.

Then it began raining. Hard.

“Oh!” Byron stamped a rubber boot with an angry squelch. A side trip to the swamp wasn’t part of a happy Halloween as far as he was concerned. Not only that, they’d figured out that Tyler and those jerks had snipped off the corner of his pillowcase and he’d been losing candy with each step ever since. The only things left were a few bags of chips that had been too big to go through the hole.

And now to top it off, his sword was gone.

“We’re lost!” he shouted. “I told you this was a stupid idea, Joy!”

“Listen, we’re not lost. It’s just a little farther, honest,” she replied, as much to reassure herself. They must be on the path, she was convinced—otherwise they would have surely drowned by now like Byron had predicted. Joy also thought they would come across Byron’s sword on the way back; his candy, on the other hand, was a total write-off. Not wanting to be weighed down, Joy had stashed her own under an overhanging rock by the road. She’d give him half, she decided, when they got back. Which was still ten times what he’d have gotten up in Spooking.

That was, of course, assuming they lived.

Then, just as she was about to admit to Byron that it was time to prepare mentally for the possibility of dying from exposure, Joy spotted a series of windows, glowing like hot plates in the distance.

Madame Portia’s portholes!

“See? I told you. There’s her place over there.”

Byron just grunted. They trudged across the deepening mud and clomped up the gangway, banging on the door with their fists.

“Go away!” screamed Madame Portia. “Be gone, devil, be gone!”

Joy realized she was probably unused to visitors pounding on her door on a stormy night. “Hello, Madame Portia!” she called cheerfully above the howling wind. “It’s Joy and Byron Wells.”

A heavy bolt slid back and the door swung open.

“Children!” cried Madame Portia. “Have you lost your little minds? What are you doing out here in the middle of the night? Get inside, quick, QUICK!” She slammed the door shut and quickly bolted it behind them.

Joy and Byron stood shivering. While it was some comfort to be out of the rain, the orange light spilling from Madame Portia’s parlor had turned out to be somewhat misleading. It was cold and damp inside and smelled worse than last time. And the rats, having plainly made themselves even more at home, were now leaping across the tops of her furniture.

“Again, what is the meaning of this?” demanded Madame Portia. “Your parents will be frantic with worry! My stars—I can only hope one of them isn’t a lawyer!”

Joy gave Byron a sideways glance, but he wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he was perched on the edge of a moldy sofa chair, hugging himself. “We’re sorry for disturbing you so late,” she replied brightly. “But our parents aren’t worried about us. It’s Halloween and we’re out trick-or-treating!”

“Ah,” said Madame Portia. “That explains why your brother is wearing aluminum foil.” She turned to frown at Joy, whose blackened eye sockets were now streaming down her face. “Your costume, however, I don’t quite get. Anyway, I have no candies or even cookies left, children, since you ate me out of house and home last time. But you should know it’s very dangerous to venture into the bog at night!”

“We know, Madame Portia, that’s why we’re here. Spooking Bog itself is in terrible danger and we need your help to save it.”

“My help?”

“Did you know that they are planning to build a water park here? With mermaids?”

Madame Portia stared at Joy incredulously. “The City of Darlington has been trying to get us out of here for a while, for sure. But a water park? I can’t believe it!” cried Madame Portia, pinching her face in disgust as she began pacing. “And what is a water park exactly?” she asked absently.

“It’s a type of amusement park. You know, where you slide down those giant tubes.”

“Oh, yes…,” said Madame Portia, again checking that the door lock was secure. “Whatever—they can build a trailer park for all I care, because I’m getting out of here!”

It was then that Joy noticed that Madame Portia was now brandishing a golf club, and it seemed an unlikely night to be practicing her chip shots.

“Madame Portia, what’s wrong? Are you frightened?”

“Am I frightened?” she repeated with a snort. “Like you don’t know!”

“Pardon?” asked Joy.

“You’re the one who insisted I read that awful story! With that horrible monster that stalks the night! Of course I am frightened—of being ripped limb from limb!”

“‘The Bawl of the Bog Fiend’? By E. A. Peugeot?”

“Yes. And it’s out there, all right!” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve heard its squealing howl, you know, just like it was written. Three nights in a row it’s been coming for me, sniffing at my doorstep. When I heard you knocking just now, I thought it was the creature, trying to break in to eat me!”

“Madame Portia, calm down,” said Joy reassuringly. “It’s just a story, that’s all.” Byron’s eyebrows fell like a dark avalanche as he glowered at her. The old woman wasn’t listening, however. She was peering out a porthole, muttering some sort of prayer in another language.

“Madame Portia!” Joy shouted. “It’s all made up! There is no such thing as the bog fiend!”

Joy couldn’t believe her own words.

She might have long blown off Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny as wishful thinking, but this was the bog fiend she was talking about, the yellow-eyed monster that terrorized an entire town, exploding from the bushes like a tooth-covered freight train! Could she really think for a second there was no such thing?

Just then, they heard it. A terrific crash outside followed by a dreadful squealing sound, as if made by some diabolical piglet.

“Here it comes again!” shrieked Madame Portia, tearing across the room. The golf club clattered to the floor. With a remarkable display of strength, she wedged a heavy oak chest of drawers against the front door. “I hope that holds! Or we’re all doomed! Doomed!”

Joy ran over to the nearest porthole. Byron, having shaken off his initial paralyzing horror, was now entering full-on panic mode and desperately trying to drag a sofa chair twice his size toward the entrance.

There came another squeal, much closer this time. It reminded Joy of one of her father’s old tools—the one he sawed open his finger with, thus permanently ending his enthusiasm for carpentry in a single ragged, blood-spurting gash.

“That’s it!” howled Madame Portia. “We’re all going to die!”

“Die?” protested Byron. “But you said we would live to be a hundred.”

“Oh, that doesn’t mean anything,” shot back the old woman irritably. “No one’s life line ever stopped them from stepping in front of a bus. It’s called a
guesstimate
, assuming you eat sensibly and exercise. But it’s too late for that now! Oh my, oh my!”

“We have to stay calm,” ordered Joy. She tried peeking out of the porthole again. The only thing she could see was Madame Portia, clutching a macramé pillow and trembling on a chaise lounge behind her, reflected in the glass. “Turn out the lights!” The reflection of Madame Portia shook its head violently. “Whatever it is can see in, but we can’t see out,” Joy added impatiently.

This particular observation put Byron into immediate motion, and within seconds he’d wiped out every lamp with the golf club, plunging them into complete darkness.

Joy peered out again. This time she could see the faint outlines of trees and the black surface of the dismal little lake surrounding them. Nothing moved. She held her breath, trying to listen above Madame Portia’s unrelenting moans.

“Shhhh,” she said finally.

There was a shower of glass as the porthole to her immediate left exploded inward. Joy hit the deck as Madame Portia screamed. There was splashing outside, then suddenly the walls resounded with a terrible impact. Then the horrible squealing again, right below them.

There was a terrifying crack and the whole house shook. And then another.

“It’s destroying the stilts!” shrieked Madame Portia. “Oh no! It wants to bring us down so it can open us up like a canned ham!”

There was another crack, and the front of the structure fell down with a huge splash.

Everyone was thrown to the ground. Everywhere, furniture and books rained down with thunderous bangs. Joy heard a heavy sideboard sliding toward her. She ducked blindly just as it went over her, clipping her arm with a terrible jolt of pain. All around came tremendous crashing sounds.

At last the noise stopped. Almost immediately, Joy heard the silence broken by Madame Portia, moaning softly.

“Byron, are you okay?” she called out into the darkness.

As the front of the house pitched forward, Byron had slid down the floor, coming to a stop under a dining table where he had borne the full force of the rat evacuation, rushing over him like some furry river. His mind clung to its last shred of sanity: a vision of cheerful pumpkins with fiery eyes and the sound of individually wrapped treats landing softly in his pillowcase. A last squeaking rat used his belly as a trampoline.

“No,” replied Byron.

Joy tried to think of some comforting words for him. Making light of almost certain death—wasn’t that what big sisters were for?

“It’ll be all right,” she whispered. “I think it’s gone.”

At that moment, there came another blast of hideous squealing as the back stilts began cracking one by one. Inside, they screamed as the other end of the house fell with an almighty splash.

Then, before anyone could recover their senses, the house began moving again, sideways.

“We’re rolling over into the pond!” cried out Madame Portia in horror. “Someone help us! Someone save us!”

Madame Portia’s worldly belongings were turned upside down, crashing together, splintering and smashing and shattering as if run through the destroy cycle of some demonic tumble dryer. Joy somehow caught Byron and held him tight as they were tossed among books and broken furniture. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally came to a rocking halt, lying painfully amid the debris.

Joy staggered unsteadily to her feet, still holding on to Byron. Droplets of water hit her face. She looked up and saw the scuba tube Madame Portia had pointed out, now a twisted, gaping hole with its bent ladder leading out to the dim world above.

They had rolled completely upside down.

Icy black bog water began rushing in.

“We’re sinking!” cried Byron.

“Come on!” shouted Joy. She clambered onto a pile of splintered wood and stuffing. “Byron, grab the ladder,” she ordered. Groaning with effort, she shoved him up into the gloom. “Madame Portia, where are you?” she called into the darkness. “Madame Portia!”

There was no reply.

From her perch on the broken furniture, Joy suddenly felt the water rush around her ankles. She leaped for the ladder as the water surged beneath her, carrying her upward out of the hatch where Byron clung desperately to the slimy underside of the house.

“Byron, jump!” she yelled, grabbing his hand. They jumped, landing hard on the broken gangway and then scrambling to shore. Panting in the mud, Joy and Byron watched in horror as the house sunk under the pond.

Poor Madame Portia! Joy’s only hope was that she’d been knocked unconscious and was at that instant dying in peaceful oblivion. She felt like crying, but then realized something was still out there, something terrible, and it wouldn’t be long before it smelled the sharp scent of flesh on the wind. Her left arm ached and no longer bent properly. They had to get moving! Joy felt for her trusty leather side bag, thankfully still hanging at her hip.

“Turn off the flashlight, Joy,” Byron whispered.

“But we need to find the path—and according to Peugeot, the fiend doesn’t like bright lights.”

“Turn up the flashlight, Joy.”

They quickly got to their feet. But where was the path? With the house gone, Joy had completely lost her bearings. Byron stood frozen with panic as Joy swept the woods with a trembling beam, illuminating a ghostly tangle of branches in every direction. It all looked the same to them. Then the light caught something hideous—glistening black with luminous yellow stripes and a terrifying tusked face. The children screamed as its bright eyes fixed on them.

“Run, Byron!” shouted Joy.

The two children bolted for it as Joy pointed the flashlight behind them in the hopes of dazzling the creature. Desperately they scrambled through the undergrowth, falling in the muck as they ran for their lives. Hearts pounding, they tore through the bog until they finally collapsed, lungs burning.