Trapped in Transylvania (2 page)

I jumped. “The whole story takes place …”

“Yes?” Mr. Wexler said.

“In a book!”

Frankie clapped. “Stick a fork in us—we are done!”

We started happily back to our seats.

“STOP!” Mr. Wexler screamed. His single eyebrow rolled like a caterpillar across his forehead. His face turned a shade of purple I'd never seen before. And weird little veins popped out all over his neck and head.

“You … you … you!” he sputtered.

“Us … us … us?” I replied.

“You … didn't read this book!” he said. “You don't know anything about this book. In fact, you don't know anything about
any
book! And I can't take it anymore! Maybe you should start spending more time around books. I'm sending you both to the library.”

Frankie clutched her throat then clutched me. “The library? Where all the b-b-books are?”

Mr. Wexler nodded with a kind of crazed delight. “And the librarian will make you learn to love every single one of them.”

“The librarian?” I mumbled. “Not …”

“Mrs. Figglehopper!” he said. “She'll teach you to respect books!”

“I've heard about her,” I said. “She loves books so much it's scary.”

Mr. Wexler was rocking slowly on his feet now. “Yes, by golly, Mrs. Figglehopper's just the one for you two! You'll be
different
after visiting her.”

“That doesn't sound good,” Frankie whispered.

“It sounds bad,” I said.

“Go!” yelled our teacher. “To the library! Right away. GO-GO-GO!”

In less time than it takes to sneeze, Frankie and I were in the hall and on our way to the library.

Chapter 3

We wound through the school hallways, taking the longest way possible.

“We passed the library five times already,” said Frankie. “Care to make it an even hundred?”

I sighed a deep sigh. “It's no use, Frankie. We'd just get caught, and it would be worse. Besides, we'd run out of life trying to dodge our fate. Let's get it over with.”

I pushed open the double doors. We stepped in.

“Welcome to the library!” chirped a woman who was standing behind a long curving counter near the doors.

She was somewhere between the age of my mother and the age of my grandmother. She wore a dress with big flowers all over it. Her hair was all up in the back and had streaks of gray in it.

A sign on the counter next to her said
CHECKOUT.

“Hello, Mrs. Checkout,” I said. “We're here to see Mrs. Figglehopper, the library lady.”

“I'm Mrs. Figglehopper, the librarian,” the woman said. “And you must be Frankie and Devin.”

Frankie staggered back. “She knows about us already! Life is closing in on us, Devin!”

“I won't go down without a fight,” I squeaked.

“Follow me,” Mrs. Figglehopper said. “I want to show you where you'll be working.”

“Working?” I shot a fearful glance at Frankie.

“I know, dude,” she said. “It's happening so fast.”

In two quick moves, Mrs. Figglehopper brought us to a room marked
WORKROOM.

“I don't like the sound of that,” I whispered.

It was a small room with two tables set against one wall. They were stacked with crumbly old books.

Next to the tables was a desk with a computer. Beside it were boxes filled with all kinds of library junk.

“What are those?” I asked, pointing to something set against the back wall of the room. It looked like a doorway with no top. The sides were about four feet high.

“Security gates,” Mrs. Figglehopper said. “But I like to call them zapper gates, from the sound they make—”

“The sound they make when you put innocent kids in them?” Frankie asked.

The librarian gave a little smile. “No. Libraries use security gates to stop people from removing books without checking them out.”

“People actually steal books?” said Frankie.

“Some people will do anything to read,” Mrs. Figglehopper said, giving us a strange look. “Just as some will do anything not to read.”

“Talk about reading,” I said. “It's like she's reading my mind!”

“Check it out,” Frankie whispered. “I'm keeping mine blank.”

“Never mind the zapper gates,” the lady went on. “They are cracked and don't work right. Here's what I want to show you.…”

She waved her hand at what filled up most of the rest of the room. Shelves and shelves and stacks and stacks of old books. Some had covers that were cracked. Some had pages that were ripped or falling out.

“They look like they belong in a museum,” I said.

Frankie chugged a short laugh. “Or a graveyard! Some of those books look pretty dead.”

“That's why I want you to help me bring them back to life,” said Mrs. Figglehopper with a rumbly little chuckle. “I want you to help me repair them. These stacks hold the great classics of literature. They are very special works that people have read and reread for years. Little by little I'm fixing them so they can go back in the library where they belong. And you're going to help me.”

“Us?” I said. “You want us to actually handle books?”

“We don't know anything about books,” said Frankie. “Just ask Mr. Wexler.”

The library lady nodded. “I think as you repair them, you will find that they are so interesting, you will want to read them. Wonderful worlds will open up to you. Your imagination will be enriched. Then maybe you will have more fun learning in Mr. Wexler's class. He's really a very good teacher, you know.”

I looked at Frankie. “Why does it feel like everyone's plotting against us?”

The lady chuckled again. “You'll learn lots about plots in this room. And the sooner we get started, the sooner you'll discover how terrific books are—so let's begin!”

She took one book and showed us how to clear away the old smelly glue that was all crusted inside the cover. Then she put on some new smelly glue into what she called the “spine” of the book. That's the outside part between the front and back covers.

Then she showed us how to tape ripped pages using a special kind of tape. The tape also had a funny smell.

“Now I'd like you two to try fixing a book. How about this one?” She handed us a thick book with a crusty brown cover. It had gold letters on the front.

“D … R … A …” Frankie let out a screech. “
Dracula?
That's the book that sent us here! Oh, I'm having a heart attack. Call the ER!”

“
Dracula
is a good book,” the librarian said, “a classic book written in 1897 by an Irish author named Bram Stoker. As you can see, this copy has gotten lots of use over the years. Now, I'll be back in forty minutes, just before the period is over. When I do, I hope to see you enjoying your work!”

She trundled off between the stacks. I heard the door squeak once, then shut.

“This is the pits,” I mumbled.

“I find myself in total agreement,” said Frankie. “But we'd better do what the library lady says. Or who knows what we'll end up doing!”

I shuddered at the thought. Frankie was right.

Carefully, I opened
Dracula
. The book wasn't in too bad shape. Mostly it had ripped pages.

Frankie tucked her stray hairs behind her ears and pulled out a piece of the smelly tape. I found the first torn page and applied the tape.

“Cool,” I said. “I repair old books.”

I flipped through to find the next torn page. Frankie taped the rip on that one. “Me, also,” she said.

Then we came to a picture.

“Whoa!” I said. “Classics illustrated!”

It was a drawing of a wagon, sort of like an old carriage. It was racing along a road between bunches of mountains and forests. Four horses attached to the front of the carriage were going all crazy and wild.

The scene was gloomy and shadowy and dark. Big clouds were tearing across the sky. It was spooky.

“What's that printing at the bottom of the picture?” Frankie asked, looking over my shoulder.

“Probably just some words,” I said.

“What do they say?”

I turned to her. “You want me to read them?”

She gave me a look. “Duh.”

I read, “'The coach … swayed … like … a boat … tossed on a stormy sea.'

“Hey, I told you I wasn't good at it.”

“Wow!” said Frankie. “It does look like that! Those words work pretty good. What else does it say?”

“No way,” I said, pushing the book in front of her. “I've read enough. You read.”

“Nuh-uh,” she said, shoving it back. “You do it.”

I pushed the book. “No, you!”

“No, you!”

“No way!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Oops …”

The book went sailing out of our hands, over the stacks, and down toward the back of the room.

It fell right between those old zapper gates.

Kkkk
—
boom!
There was a sudden flash of light and a quick, loud, booming sound.

Then a cloud of smoke puffed up from nowhere and billowed through the room.

“I can't see!” Frankie screamed.

Chapter 4

“Well, okay, I can see,” Frankie said. “But it's all purple and blotchy in front of my eyes, like when someone snaps your picture and you end up with those spooky red eyes staring back out at everybody!”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “But even more important—what just happened?”

I crept over to the gates, waving the smoke as I went.

The gates were glowing with a weird blue color.

“Did you break the gates?” said Frankie, creeping over next to me. “You broke them! Oh, dude!”

“Me?” I said. “You threw the book—”

“No, you!” she said. “Anyway, where did it go?”

I couldn't see the book. It wasn't behind the gates.

It wasn't on the floor. It wasn't anywhere.

But something else was.

A crack had opened in the back wall of the workroom, right behind the zapper gates. It was from the crack that all the smoke was pouring.

“I never saw that before,” Frankie said. “Did you?”

I shook my head. “The big bang must have caused it, and that's where the book went to. Go get it, okay?”

“I'm not crawling around inside a wall!” she snapped. “Things might be living in there.”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “We both go. Ready … now!”

We slid in through the crack.

It was dark inside the wall, except for a bit of light coming from somewhere ahead of us. I stepped toward it and felt cool air rushing over us.

“I think we're heading out of the building,” I said.

“That makes no sense. We should be hitting the janitor's supply closet any time now. Hey, there's the book.” Frankie picked up the copy of
Dracula
from the ground.

I stopped. It was still smoky around me, but I realized that the ground was rough beneath my feet.

“You found the book,” I said. “But where are we?”

Frankie peered ahead, squinting. I did, too.

“Whoaaaa …”

We were on a road. A dirt road. And all around us were forests and steep hills.

Plus it was dark, as if it were the end of the day.

“This is all wrong,” said Frankie. “If we're outside, we should be able to see the parking lot. Besides, it's a sunny day. But I see no cars and no sun.”

“We'd better get back to the workroom before somebody says we broke the library,” I said.

But when we turned around, the bright blue light from the zapper gates was nowhere, and the crack in the wall was gone. In their place were just more woods and road stretching into the distance.

“This is so not good,” I mumbled.

“It's so not possible, either!” said Frankie. “Unless … Devin! What if we're dead! What if the zapper gates blew us up big time and we're dead? And this is, you know, heaven!”

“Then where are the tables of food and the big TVs?”

Frankie thought about that. “Okay, so it's not heaven. But it does look sort of familiar.”

Then it hit me. “Of course it looks familiar! It's just like … like … like … whoa!”

I grabbed the book from her and flipped it open. “It's—this!” I showed her the picture of the dirt road with mountains on both sides and forests all around. It was creepy and gloomy and shadowy and dark. Big black clouds were racing across the sky.

I looked up.

Big black clouds
were
racing across the sky.

“Whoa and double whoa!” said Frankie. “The only thing different is that there's a carriage in the picture—”

That's when we heard hooves pounding on the road.

We whirled around, and there it was—a carriage with four wild horses tearing down the road right at us. The wheels were squeaking and squealing. The carriage was bouncing. Exactly like in the picture.

“Just like a boat on a stormy sea!” Frankie gasped. “Devin, you know what this means? We're—”

“I know!” I said. “We're not in school anymore!”

“No, it means we're—”

“In big trouble!”

“No, we're—”

“Probably going to die!”

“WILL YOU LET ME FINISH!” Frankie yelled. “It means—we're in the book!”

She grabbed the book from me and shook it in my face. “We're in …
DRACULA
!”

Chapter 5

We were just about to dive into the bushes when—
errrrch!
—the carriage driver pulled on the reins and the horses screeched to a nasty stop.

A moment later, the carriage door swung open.

Nobody came out.

Nobody said, “Hi!”

Nobody said, “Get back to the library!”