The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles (2 page)

TWO

Tom turned to Lindy in annoyance. "Boy, Lindy, you are the end. You talked and talked to that man. I don't think we should have encouraged him. He seemed as nutty as a fruitcake."

"Oh, I liked him," Lindy said defensively.

"Did you
notice he was wearing blue and white striped socks?" Ben laughed. "I wonder if he was joking when he said there was something called a Whangdoodle."

"I'll bet he wasn't," said Lindy.

"I'll bet he was," countered Tom. "Anyway, I'm going to look that word up in the dictionary when we get home."

Lindy peered out into the rain. The bus was passing a large park and on the other side of it, half obscured by trees, she saw a tall, thin house with shuttered windows.

Pointing to it, she asked Tom, "Is that place really haunted?"

"Sure."

"Who lives in there?"

"A terrible ogre and a witch with yellow fangs."

"Well, nobody's sure about that," Ben said. "But most people stay away from there, Lindy. Especially on Halloween."

"Well, it wouldn't scare me," she declared. "I don't believe in ogres . . . just fairies."

"You mean you wouldn't be scared to go up and knock on the front door?" Tom asked.

"Not at all."

"I bet you would."

"I wouldn't." Lindy raised her chin defiantly.

“
Well, I'll make you a bet. I'll bet you five cents that you won't go and knock on the front door of Stone House on Tuesday night," said Tom.

"Pooh, that's not a good bet," Lindy hedged. "Then I'll make it twenty-five cents."

The little girl hesitated. She wanted more than anything to join her brothers this year for Halloween. But she wasn't at all sure that she'd have the courage to do what Tom had suggested. Besides which, twenty-five cents represented her week's allowance.

"You see, you
are
scared," Tom said triumphantly.

"No, I'm not," she declared loudly. "It's a bet."

"Stop it, you two. You're both being stupid," Ben said.

"Don't look at me. She's the one who started it. If she's too scared to do it, then why doesn't she say so?"

"I'm
not
too scared."

"Okay." Ben threw up his hands in disgust. "But remember, Mom will probably make the final decision about it all anyway."

The subject came up again that night at dinner. "Lindy, what would you like to do about trick- or-treating this Halloween?" Mr. Potter asked. Lindy looked at her brothers. Tom stopped eating
and watched her intently across the table.

"I was wondering if I could go with Tom and Ben."

Mrs. Potter looked at her sons.

"What do you think, boys?"

"Well, I don't know. . . ." replied Ben. "It's fine for the other two. I mean, they just have to tag along and everything. But I'm always the one who has to be in charge. I mean, look at today. I was constantly watching out for Lindy and trying to stop her and Tom arguing."

Mr. Potter smiled. "Tough, being the eldest, isn't it? Accepting responsibility is quite a chore sometimes."

"It sure is," Ben agreed solemnly.

"But that's part of growing up, I'm afraid. Part of being thirteen years old."

Ben considered this. Lindy held her breath.

"I guess I don't really mind all that much," Ben said finally.

"I think that's very nice." Mrs. Potter seemed quite pleased. "Then it's fine with us, Lindy, if that's what you'd like. Now, I suggest that we all sit by the fire for the last half hour before bedtime. Will one of you get the Sunday paper for your father?"

Ben ran to fetch it.

The Sunday evening get-together had become a habit all of the Potters enjoyed. The children talked about any problems that may have arisen at school. Holiday plans were discussed and everyone was encouraged to exchange ideas.

The children arranged themselves comfortably. Mrs. Potter took up her knitting and Mr. Potter lit his pipe, settled back in his favorite chair and opened the Bramblewood
Sunday Courier.

"My word, Freda, look at this."

"What, dear?"

"Professor Savant has been awarded the Nobel Prize."

"How nice."

"Who's Professor Savant?" Tom wanted to know. "Head of the Biology Research Department at the University," Mr. Potter explained.

"What did he get the Nobel Prize for?" Ben asked.

"According to this, for his work in genetics," said Mr. Potter.

"I don't even know what the Nobel Prize is." Lindy sounded bewildered.

Mr. Potter looked over his glasses at his eldest son.

"Can you tell her, Ben?"

Ben thought for a moment. "I think," he said slowly, "that it's a prize given every year to people who have done something really great—like in chemistry, or in writing, or in medicine. Something like that."

"Very good," said Mr. Potter. "It's also given for achievement in physics and physiology. And, very importantly, for the promotion of peace."

Mrs. Potter interrupted her husband. "I really think you should write to the professor, dear. Just a small letter of congratulations. It's really so wonderful for the University. Which reminds me . . ." She turned to the children. "Would you all start thinking about doing a card or a letter to Grandma? You know, she's not been at all well. It would mean so much to her to hear from you all. Lindy, perhaps you could make one of your special cards?"

"Okay."

"Tell us about the zoo today," said Mr. Potter.

"We met the funniest little man there," Lindy suddenly remembered. "He told us about an animal called a Whangdoodle. Have you ever heard of it, Daddy?"

"A Whangdoodle? No, I can't say I have. What is it?"

"I don't know. He said it looks a bit like a horse. It has horns. . . ."

"I don't think there is such an animal," said Tom. "I told him so. He said to look it up in the dictionary when we got home."

"Well, go ahead," said Mr. Potter.

Tom ran into his father's study and took from a shelf a large, heavy, black dictionary that had obviously seen a great deal of use. He carried it carefully back into the living room and placed it on the table.

The children gathered around him as he thumbed through the tissue-thin pages. "Watchband, waybill, webbing, Wessex, West Orange, whammy. Here we are," he suddenly cried excitedly. "Whangdoodle."

"Oooh, what does it say?" Lindy pushed in close.

"It says-'noun, slang: a fanciful creature of undefined nature." Tom looked up. "What the heck does that mean?"

Mr. Potter rose and knocked his pipe against the side of the fireplace. "It probably means that a Whangdoodle is a made-up word for some kind of imaginary creature. Which, I would think, is why the dictionary uses the word 'fanciful' to describe it."

"So I was right," Tom said. "A Whangdoodle doesn't exist."

"Probably not," replied Mr. Potter.

"There you are." Tom turned to Ben and Lindy. "I told you so."

"But you're not sure about that," Lindy protested. "Yes, I am. I knew that old man was a phony."

"Oh, he wasn't." Lindy turned to Ben. "You don't think he was, do you, Ben?"

"Oh, Lindy. Who knows?" Ben sighed. "But if he wasn't a phony or crazy or anything, then what do you suppose he meant by all his talk?"

"We shall probably never find out," Mrs. Potter summed up. "Come on, children, it's time to get ready for bed."

THREE

The following day Lindy wished very much that she had not accepted Tom's dare. The more she thought about it, the more she became convinced that she would never be able to approach Stone House on Halloween, or at any other time, for that matter. She was inwardly terrified at the whole idea, but her courage and pride forbade her from mentioning this to anyone. So she spent a very miserable day worrying about it.

At bedtime, when Mrs. Potter came in to kiss her daughter good night, she found her lying wide-eyed and clutching her teddy bear.

"Don't turn the light out, Mummy. I need to talk to you for a moment."

"What is it, darling?"

"I want to know something. Is it true you can die from fright?" she asked.

Mrs. Potter tried not to smile at the solemnity with which Lindy asked her question. "Why? Are you frightened about tomorrow night?"

Lindy nodded.

"In what way are you frightened? Because you're going with the boys for the first time? Or is it something else?"

"No, it's sort of that," Lindy said.

"Well, you know, it's very easy to change your mind and come with Daddy and me instead."

Lindy hesitated. "No, I really would like to go with the boys. I was just thinking about it."

Mrs. Potter tucked the blankets snugly around her daughter.

"Why don't you speak to Ben and tell him you're a bit worried? He's very understanding about things like that."

Lindy felt a wave of relief at her mother's suggestion. Ben would watch out for her and keep her safe. She hugged her mother and kissed her.

"Good night, Mummy."

"Good night, darling. Sleep well."

In spite of Mrs. Potter's comforting reassurance, Lindy had terrible nightmares that night. She spoke to Ben immediately after school the next day. "Ben, can you keep a secret?"

"Of course I can."

"Well
. . .”
Lindy took a deep breath. "You see, I'm a bit scared about tonight. I want to keep my dare and win the twenty-five cents. But I was wondering . . . would you please stay very near when I go up to Stone House? And if I scream or faint or anything will you come and save me?"

Ben was flattered that Lindy would turn to him in a time of crisis and he answered in a big-brotherly way. "Of course I will, Lindy. Don't you worry about anything. I'll be right beside you."

"Oh, Ben, that's super."

At six thirty P.M., after a very early dinner, the children assembled at the front door to say goodbye to their parents.

Lindy's lion costume was a great success. She wore a furry bonnet with two soft, pointed ears on top of it, and furry mittens. She had ruby lips and there were black whiskers painted on her cheeks and a large black spot on the tip of her nose. On the back of her costume, Mrs. Potter had pinned a long silken tail with a gold tassel at the end of it.

Tom looked incredibly mean and ugly. He had put on his oldest clothes and padded them into a grotesque shape. He wore a pair of his father's shoes, which were much too big for him. He had used a gluelike substance to pull his face into an agonized expression. It made Lindy shudder just to look at him and even Mrs. Potter remarked in a startled voice, "Good heavens, Tom. Is that really you?"

Ben looked rather dashing, considering he was meant to be Dracula. He wore a long black cloak with a high collar over a black turtleneck sweater and brown trousers. He had painted his face white and his lips a dark, purplish red. His wig was shiny black. The only really frightening touch was the two fangs he had attached to his teeth.

Mr. Potter gave last-minute instructions. "Now, Dracula, you're in charge. Act in a responsible manner. No egg throwing, no vandalism."

"How about shaving cream?" Tom asked.

"Well, all right. In moderation. Off you go. Be home by nine thirty or ten. No later."

It was dusk already and the streetlamps were glowing. Lindy, Tom and Ben saw people in costumes of every shape, color and size. There were ghosts and hoboes, Frankensteins and monsters, princesses and ballet dancers, gypsies, chimney sweeps and all manner of other disguises. Ghostly music emanating from some of the houses mingled with the sounds of cackling laughter and shrieking vampires. Candlelit pumpkins flickered while the moonlight cast moving shadows on the lawns.

As the night grew darker Lindy pressed closer to Ben. Tom studied her.

"Now, Lindy, are you sure you want to go through with this? I mean, it's going to be spooky and dangerous."

She nodded her head bravely.

"Well, okay." Tom spoke with grudging admiration.

The three children pushed on towards the town, occasionally pausing to knock on the door of any house that looked appealing and cheerful.

They collected a sizable bag of candy, chewing gum and toffee apples—a good portion of which they happily ate. By the time they reached the park

Lindy was feeling decidedly odd. She couldn't tell if it was from fear or from too many treats.

There were two magnificent bonfires on the grass. Children were piling sticks and dry branches onto the flames, and sparks rose high into the air.

But the nearer the Potter children got to Stone House the less activity they saw. The area was heavily wooded. The grass was higher and obviously uncared-for. Stone House loomed tall and ghostly grey in the moonlight.

Lindy pulled Ben to a halt outside a pair of large iron gates. "You've got to come in with me," she whispered. "I'll never make it alone." The gate creaked on rusty hinges. Lindy's heart was pounding.

There was not a sign of life anywhere as they tiptoed along the edge of the gravel drive. Dry leaves crackled under their feet. A loose shutter banged noisily in an upstairs window of the house and all three children jumped with fright.

The wind moaned through the branches of the trees. A dog howled and, as the children paused near the front door, an owl hooted mournfully in the darkness. Lindy's legs almost gave out beneath her and she was close to tears.

"I told you this'd be too much for her," Tom hissed nervously.

Ben motioned him to be quiet. A light swung and glowed on the porch, revealing grey paint, cracked and flaked from wind and rain. Another light shone high up in the house, and another at the back spilled a ghostly yellow beam onto the grass.

"Lindy, it's now or never," Ben said solemnly. He let go of his sister's hand. "Do you think you can make it?"

Her eyes were wide with fear and she swayed a little.

"Go on, go on," Tom said and he prodded her in the back.

"Don't do that,"
she snapped.

She took a deep breath and began to walk. She fixed her eyes on the elaborate door knocker and looked neither right nor left. The few yards to the porch seemed endless. Her shoes made a hollow sound as she climbed the wooden steps.

The owl hooted again as she stood on tiptoe and raised a trembling hand to the door knocker. With a burst of courage she banged it hard three times. The sound rang out in the stillness of the night and echoed through the trees. For a brief moment nothing happened. Then, suddenly, the front door swung open and a very sweet and cheerful-looking lady stood smiling down at her.

Lindy let out a piercing scream.

Tom and Ben charged out of the darkness.

"I'm here, Lindy!" shouted Ben.

"You leave my sister alone!" Tom yelled.

The boys' sudden appearance scared the lady so badly that she screamed too. This had the interesting effect of completely silencing the children. There was a sound of running footsteps inside the house and a voice cried out, "What is it, Mrs. Primrose? I'm coming." A small, funny-looking gentleman raced out of the house and flung a protective arm around the lady's ample figure.

"What on earth have we here?" The man peered at the children. "A lion and a Dracula and some other weird fellow. No, it's the Hunchback of Notre Dame. But wait a minute. Wait a
minute.
Bless my soul. Haven't we all met before?"

Ben cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. We met you at the zoo last Sunday."

"Of course. But how
very
nice." He seemed genuinely pleased as he turned to his housekeeper. "Mrs. Primrose, these children are my friends. What on earth is all the fuss about?"

Everyone started talking at once. The man held up his hands. "I really think this should be explained inside, where we will be out of the cold. Mrs. Primrose, we'll have some hot chocolate and whipped cream for everyone, please. Come in, come in," he said to the children, and he held the door open invitingly.