The Dreadful Future of Blossom Culp (9 page)

But the first bell sounded then, and Miss Blankenship turned on us.

“Meet me under the shade tree in the schoolyard at lunch,” Alexander whispered importantly. “We’ll discuss the matter.”

Like Hamlet himself, I could hardly make up my mind all morning. As I was not born yesterday, I knew Alexander was playing up to me only under Letty’s orders. For reasons of her own, she’d decided I was to be in on the class fund raiser. I decided to play along just to see what they were up to.

At lunch I awaited Alexander under the shade tree. Daisy-Rae’s broken boots were dangling down from a branch, so at least I’d have a witness.

Alexander strolled up. “Well, Blossom, here is the deal. Letty—several of us officers have decided on the various attractions for our Haunted House. Tess and Bess, dressed up as bats, will flit around in the attic. Ione and Harriet and several others will jump out of closets at people. And we’re going to dress Champ Ferguson up as a monster, and—”

“Champ Ferguson isn’t a freshman,” I reminded him.

“I know, but he’s almost six foot tall, and we need a monster that size. Nobody’ll know him when we get him disguised.”

“And what part are you playing in this, Alexander?”

He drew himself up. “I’m in charge of the dungeon, which is in the cellar. I’ll be leading customers around in the dark down there and letting them feel the deadman’s remains. We’ll have a couple of peeled grapes for his eyes and a wet sponge for his brain and some warm spaghetti for his guts and—”

“Hold it,” I said. “I’ve heard enough. Where do I come in on this deal?”

“You’ll be the star attraction,” he said, “sort of.”

“Is that a fact.”

“Sure. You’re to dress up like a witch—you can borrow some of your mama’s clothes—and tell people’s fortunes. We’ll charge them an extra nickel for the reading.”

I gave this some thought. Considering the other corn-fed plans they had for their so-called Haunted House, they could use a star attraction. And they knew it, too. It’s a sight how agreeable people can be when they want something out of you.

“Of course,” Alexander said, “you can just fake the fortune-telling part.”

I bristled. “Fake it? What for? I’ll remind you, Alexander, I got Powers and the Second Sight, same as you. You know yourself me and you can see the Unseen and glimpse Other Worlds if we put our minds to it.”

“Well, just hush up about that,” Alexander said, glancing nervously around. “I have left all that kind of thing behind me, and I don’t care to discuss it. Besides, I don’t think we have those powers anymore.” He cleared his throat. “I haven’t been troubled in that way for quite a spell now. I expect it was just a stage that we have outgrown.”

“Is that a fact,” I replied. “Gimme your hand.”

He thrust both his hands into his pockets.

“Gimme your hand, and be quick about it.” When I got him to stretch out a hand, I turned it palm up and ran my fingers lightly over it, squinting hard.

“Hmmmmm,” says I, “that’s real interesting, that is.”

“Knock it off, Blossom.”

“Oh, yes, I see it clear now.” I pointed at random to a little line running across his palm. “Danger lurks in your immediate future.”

“Cut it out, Blossom.”

“No question about it,” I said. “I see . . . I see a dark and windswept night. Not Halloween. No. Sooner than that.” Alexander’s hand quivered in mine. “I see two—no, three shadowy figures. And . . . what’s this? A porch! That’s it, a porch. I see these three figures carrying something . . . a sack.
PEEE-YEW
,” I said. “It stinks. I see these three figures carrying this smelly sack up onto the porch.”

I checked Alexander’s face to see how he was taking this. His eyes were growing wary and dark.

“I see these three figures touching a match to this
nasty sack . . . in front of the door. They’re laughing like fools and punching each other on the arms. They’re ringing the doorbell now and scampering off the porch. But lo and behold! Something they didn’t expect is about to—”

Alexander grabbed his hand away. His ears were burning bright, and his friendly mood was forgotten.

“Very funny, Blossom,” he sneered. “As if I didn’t know where you came by that information.”

“It’s all there in your hand, Alexander. As you can see, I’m a first-rate fortune-teller. I could tell more if I felt like it, which I don’t.”

“You’re a first-rate snoop, Blossom. You’ve snooped on me at the . . . swimming hole, and you’ve snooped on me at the Bijou Picture Show. My life is hardly worth living, you spidery-legged little—”

“Hold it right there, Alexander.” I spoke sternly. “If you get on the wrong side of me, where will you be with Letty? Me and you both know she sent you to sweet-talk me into telling fortunes. It has taken you quite a while to get up your nerve, too, and it’s Wednesday already. We are but two days from Halloween, and if you fail in your mission, your name will be mud with Letty. Give it some thought!”

He did.

“For two cents,” he muttered, “I’d resign as vice-president. It’s not worth the grief.”

“Never mind,” I said. “This is your lucky day, as I’m willing to overlook your foul temper. I reckon I can make myself available as fortune-teller. Where
are you setting up this so-called Haunted House anyway?”

Looking relieved, Alexander said, “Oh, it’s readymade, and we’re decorating it real good. We’re using the old abandoned Leverette farmhouse out in the country.”

My eyes no doubt popped. “How’s that again, Alexander?”

“The old broken-down farmhouse,” he explained, “out past the—ah—swimming hole.”

I swallowed. “I see. Well now, that puts a new light on things.”

Alexander eyed me. “You can’t back out now, Blossom. You gave your word.”

“Maybe so, but I also gave my word to Mama that I’d never go near that place.”

“I will grant you,” Alexander said, “that your mama is crazy as a loon and mean as a weasel, but what has she got against that old falling-down house?”

“Don’t you know, Alexander?”

“No,” he said, but he was looking shifty.

“Mama says that place is haunted or something. I mean,
really
haunted.”

“There you go again, Blossom, telling tall tales and lying through your teeth.”

“I didn’t say a word about it, Alexander. I don’t know what particular problem the old Leverette farmhouse suffers from. But I tell you one thing: It suffers from
something.
Mama doesn’t kid around.”

“In that case,” he said, “why don’t you just sneak off on Halloween night and don’t tell your mama where you’re going? The whole town knows you’ve done that type thing before.”

“I might and I might not,” I replied. “But I know one thing, Alexander. I’m going to find out what ails that place. It would be a rich joke indeed if the freshman class tried to run a fake Haunted House in a real one. Before I commit myself to telling any fortunes in that place, I mean to find out the truth.”

“You do that.” Alexander jittered. “You check it out and let me know your decision.” He turned then, ready to cut out.

“Not so fast, Alexander. Me and you are going out to the old Leverette place tonight—after dark. With our particular Powers, we ought to be able to plumb its deepest mysteries.”

Alexander was shaking his head briskly. “No, you don’t, Blossom. You don’t drag me into one of your harebrained schemes. You’ve made up this whole thing to get me alone somewheres. Count me out, and that’s final!”

“Very well, Alexander, and maybe you can get Letty Shambaugh to tell fortunes on Halloween night, as I will not be available.”

And that’s how me and Alexander Armsworth happened to pay a visit in the dead of that very night out to the old Leverette farmhouse beyond Leverette’s Woods, to learn for ourselves if that strange place concealed some eerie mystery beneath its sagging roof.

I
T WAS A DARK AND WINDSWEPT NIGHT
, and Alexander was in one of his sulks. He slouched along the country road with a railroad lantern in the crook of his arm and took long strides, trying to outdistance me. Our shadows were long on the road in the light of the bobbing lantern. His only conversation was grunts.

By and by we came along past Leverette’s Woods, where the wind was thrashing the treetops. “The entrance to Lovers’ Lane is right around here somewheres,” I pointed out.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Alexander said. “You won’t get me into any Lovers’ Lane. We’ll go around by the pasture.” So we were soon waist-high in unmown grass, proceeding across the pasture Indian file. I had a job to keep up. Alexander wouldn’t have minded giving me the slip.

He slowed when the sloping roof of the old Leverette place loomed ahead of us. Then he dropped down in the weeds so quick I nearly fell over him.

“I tripped over a stone,” he said, though I didn’t see one.

“We better keep moving,” I said. “It’s cold, and besides, you’re going to set the grass afire with that lantern if you’re not careful.”

“Nag, nag, nag,” said Alexander. “I twisted my ankle.”

Across the moon an owl flew with some small creature in its claws. The lightning rods on the roof of the old house pointed like daggers at the black sky. From beyond the place came the sighing of a wind pump turning in the breeze. I smelled rain in the air and sensed a storm.

I heard something else then, I swear I did. Clear on the night air, it was a peculiar
pyong, pyong, pyong
with the occasional
beep.
Coming and going, it sent some strange signal.

But I couldn’t place it. It was nothing I knew or quite earthly. From the corner of my eye I checked Alexander to see if he’d heard it, too. But it was dark in the weeds, and the lantern seemed to burn lower.

“I think my ankle’s swelling. My sock feels tight.”

“You’d better give that ankle some exercise,” I said, starting up. But as I took my next step toward the house, I froze in my tracks.

All of the many windows in the old abandoned Leverette place were like dead eyes. Except for a window upstairs beneath the drooping drainpipe. From a single room came a dim blue light, flickering, pulsing.

Pyong,
I heard distantly.
Pyong, pyong, beep.
A sudden wind went through me, or something did. The racing clouds cleared the moon, and I saw something on the roof among the lightning rods. It was some strange arrangement of rods and sticks stuck up on a small pole. But it faded while I watched.

Then, just for an instant, the whole place glowed. From every window in the house white light poured, throwing pale shapes on the untended yard.

It was electric light, but of course, the old Leverette place had never been wired for electricity. Old Man Leverette doesn’t even have electricity in his residence in Bluff City. I blinked, and the house went black again. Maybe a little blue sparked from the upstairs window again, then utter darkness.

I settled back in the weeds beside Alexander. He was bent low, examining his ankle. Or hiding his eyes. I decided to wait until he’d gathered what courage he had.

The old wind pump sighed again. Dry leaves scudded out in swirls from the woods. Just to liven up Alexander a little, I spoke the following lines in a spooky voice, right in his ear:

All of Alexander’s hair seemed to stand up on his head. Even his beanie quivered. “Would you shut up with that kind of talk. Where’d you get it anyhow?”

“It’s
Hamlet,”
I explained, “Act Three. Don’t you ever read the blackboard?”

“This isn’t English class,” he snapped, “so cut it out. It’s getting late, and I’d better be getting—”

“You’re right,” I said fast. “We’d better conduct our investigation. We wouldn’t want midnight to find us in
that
place.”

I jumped up and headed for the house, as brave as possible under the circumstances. Alexander had no choice but to follow. Thunder rolled out of the distance, following a lightning flash.

At the top of a flight of wooden steps the porch was in deep shadow. Dead autumn leaves crunched beneath our boots, and Alexander tried to take charge. He held the lantern aloft at the front door. Over it a sign had recently been tacked up. It was orange cardboard with squiggly black letters that read:

REPENT WHAT’S PAST;
AVOID WHAT IS TO COME

“Tess and Bess did that sign for the entrance,” Alexander explained. “It’s a nice, scary motto.”

“It’s from
Hamlet,”
I said, “also Act Three.” We stepped inside, Alexander politely letting me go first.

In the front hall the lantern threw red light across curling wallpaper and up a long stairway. “Here’s where we’ll collect the admission fees,” Alexander said in a breaking voice. “We’ll have a couple jack-o’-lanterns around for light. The cobwebs are real.”

I touched his sleeve to quiet him. We stood in that
shadowy place while I listened to the house. If I started Vibrating and picking up messages with my inner ear and my special Powers, I wanted to be close to the front door. But I heard nothing except the wind in the eaves and a spatter of rain in the gutters. Far off, a loose shutter clapped against the house.

“Quit listening,” Alexander muttered. “You’re just asking for trouble.”

Never a step ahead of me, he gave us a tour. The dining room was bare except for trash and an old-fashioned gasolier fixture hanging down from the ceiling.

“Harriet Hochhuth is going to hang in that china closet over there. We’re going to string her up with wires as an artificial corpse.”

Alexander scooted through a door, taking the lantern and leaving me in darkness. “This here’s the kitchen,” he hollered. I skipped on into the so-called kitchen, which was a filthy mess.

“We’re going to stretch Champ Ferguson out on this drainboard,” Alexander explained, “and disguise him as a monster, which we’re sewing together from spare parts found in a graveyard. There’ll be a big bucket of grape juice for blood. That’s one of my own crackerjack ideas.

“And over there”—Alexander pointed—“are the stairs to the cellar, where we’re setting up the deadman’s dungeon and model torture chamber.” He turned his back on the black cellar stairs, making it clear he wasn’t going down there tonight.