The Dark Secret of Weatherend Read online

  At the back of the building, in the shadows, four large shapes loomed.

  Anthony was startled, and afraid. "Hey, Miss Eells!" he said, pointing, "What the heck are those things?"

  Miss Eells shrugged. "Darned if I know. Why don't we go find out?" And she walked boldly forward.

  At first Anthony hung back. Then he pulled himself together and followed Miss Eells. The boards of the garage floor creaked as he moved cautiously forward. Now he could see what the four things were. Each one looked like a statue that the sculptor had given up on halfway through. From the rugged, chisel-marked stone slabs, hands and arms and bits of carved drapery protruded. Half-finished faces, blurred and indistinct and somehow sinister, stared out of the gloom. Oddly enough, the pedestal at the bottom of each statue was finished, squared off, and even polished. On each of the four bases letters stood out in relief. The statues had titles—Wind, Snow, Hail, and Lightning.

  Miss Eells folded her arms and stared for a full minute at the statues. Then she shook her head slowly and let out a long, low whistle. "Boy, oh, boy!" she said in an awestruck tone. "Would you look at these! If you didn't already think that J. K. Borkman was a major fruitcake, with citron chunks and almonds, this would convince you! This is incredible, Anthony, isn't it? What on earth do you think the old so-and-so had in mind?"

  "I dunno, Miss Eells." Anthony's voice was small and frightened. The feeling of nervousness that had crept up on him since he entered the garage was growing now. There was something about the four half-made statues that was incredibly ominous and forbidding.

  Anthony took a sudden step backward. Quickly his hand shot out, and he grabbed Miss Eells's arm. "C'mon," he said. "Let's get outa this place. It's givin' me the creeps!"

  Miss Eells stared curiously at the boy. If the statues were sending out evil vibrations, she certainly did not feel them. "Anthony, Anthony, calm down!" she exclaimed in an annoyed voice, and she shook off his clutching hand. "Good heavens, but you're nervous today. Does your mother let you drink coffee now?"

  Anthony felt foolish. Here he was, a bundle of nerves, and Miss Eells was as steady as a rock. Why wasn't she feeling what he was feeling?

  "I... I just wanna go," he said in a small, miserable voice. "I can't explain it, but I've just kinda... got the heebie-jeebies. You know what I mean?"

  Miss Eells smiled sympathetically. She had her own little fusses and worries, and she knew they didn't make sense to anyone but herself. On the other hand she was still feeling nosy and wanted to hang around just a few minutes more.

  "We'll go in a couple of seconds," she said, giving Anthony a reassuring pat on the arm. "I just want to have another wee little peek at these statues. They're really quite—ow! Oooh, ow, ow, ow!"

  Miss Eells had been moving forward as she talked. Suddenly she stumbled and slumped downward. Anthony saw instantly what had happened: a rotten board in the floor of the garage had given way. Miss Eells's right leg had sunk in all the way up to the thigh, and the ragged edge of the broken board had raked her flesh.

  In a flash Anthony was down on his knees alongside her. "Oh, my gosh, Miss Eells!" He gasped. "Are you all right? Are you all right?"

  Miss Eells bit her lip. Then she opened her mouth and let fly with a string of rather imaginative swear words. When she felt somewhat better, slowly and carefully she began to ease her injured leg up out of the hole.

  "Dratted board!" she muttered, and she reached down and broke off the piece of wood that had gouged her leg. She and Anthony looked through the hole she had just made. Even though the light in the garage was dim, they could see, down on the hard ground under the floor, a small metal box.

  "Huh!" snorted Miss Eells, and she reached down into the hole and came up with the box in her hands.

  "What is it?" asked Anthony eagerly. He was a coin collector, and he was hoping that it was a box full of Brasher doubloons or 1822 five-dollar gold pieces.

  "Here," she said, and she handed the box to Anthony. It felt disappointingly light. While Anthony was wondering whether he ought to open it or not, Miss Eells got to her feet and began brushing her skirt with her hands. She winced because of the pain in her leg, and there were long, angry red scrapes on her skin. Her nylon stocking had been ripped to shreds.

  "I think I'd better go have Doc Luescher look at this, before tetanus sets in," said Miss Eells wryly, staring down at her injured leg. "Why me?" She sighed. "As I've said many times before, why me? Ah, well. Let's get going."

  Limping slightly and still wincing from the pain, Miss Eells made her way out of the garage. Anthony followed with the box in his hands. When he stepped into the sunlight, he heaved a sigh of relief—they were safe now. They were going on to the ice cream stand and then home. Anthony turned to Miss Eells, and he was about to ask her if she needed help getting down the hill, when he heard something.

  There was a noise in the distance, a door slamming.

  Anthony turned and looked off toward the boarded-up mansion. The front door was open, and there was somebody standing out on the front steps. The figure was far away, but it looked like a man, and he was waving. He seemed cheerful and friendly, and Anthony was just raising his arm to wave back when he saw something that filled him with horror.

  A dog. A large black dog rushed past the man and bounded down the steps of the terrace. It was coming toward them.

  Anthony and Miss Eells turned and ran, lickety-split, down the slope as fast as they could. Injured leg or not, Miss Eells was running hard. She threw it into high gear and passed Anthony, arms pumping like a marathon runner. Anthony was so astounded at the sight of Miss Eells running that he actually slowed down a bit, and so he had the chance to see her hike up her skirts and clear the bent fence in a lovely running jump. With the box still clutched to his chest Anthony vaulted the fence too, and they both scrambled madly across the road. Judging from the sound of the barking behind them, the dog was not very far away.

  As Anthony tore around the front of the car he saw out of the corner of his eye that the evil black dog had made it to the fence. He fumbled madly with the door and finally got it open. Slam—now he was safe! Miss Eells was inside too, and she was searching madly in her junk-filled handbag for the keys. As she started the car Anthony saw the terrifying sight of the dog leaping viciously at the driver's door. His claws clattered on the glass, and his barking was loud and frightening. Miss Eells turned her head and stuck out her tongue at the yelping beast. Then she threw the car into gear and they shot off in a cloud of exhaust smoke.

  CHAPTER TWO

  After the frightening experience that they had just had, Miss Eells and Anthony didn't feel much like ice cream. So after barreling along down the road for three or four miles, Miss Eells stopped and made a U-turn, and they went roaring back the way they had come. As they passed the Weatherend estate Anthony noticed that the dog was no longer there. On they went, full speed, until they were back at the Rolling Stone branch library again. Miss Eells nosed the car into a parking space, turned off the motor, and heaved a deep, disgusted sigh. "Well, my friend," she said dryly, "we had ourselves quite a little adventure, didn't we? Only it turned kind of sour at the end. Can you imagine the nerve of that creep? Waving at us as if we were long-lost friends and then turning the Hound of the Baskervilles loose on us! Whoever he is, I hope he and his dog both catch the mange and spend the next six weeks scratching themselves silly." She smiled at Anthony. "Ah, well," she added gently, "we did get away, didn't we? I'm really sorry that I dragged you up to that place. I had no idea that anything like that would happen!"

  "It's okay, Miss Eells," said Anthony. "You didn't know there was anybody up there. Who do you think that guy was, anyway?"

  Miss Eells shrugged. "I haven't the faintest idea. Maybe the old dump has a new owner after all these years. But come on—let's go have some ice water and wash our faces and hands. And we'd better call your mom and tell her that you'll be home in a little bit. I'll drive you back." In a lower voice Miss Eells added,
"Don't forget to bring that box with you. After all the trouble we went through to get it, I'm dying to see what's inside. It may be old Borkman's laundry lists, but... well, who knows? It might just be more interesting."

  Miss Eells and Anthony got out of the car and went into the library. They washed up, and Miss Eells peeled off her shredded stocking and threw it away. Then, dabbing gingerly at her leg with a wet washcloth, she cleaned the cuts and put Mercurochrome on them while Anthony took two Coke bottles out of the refrigerator, filled a couple of tall glasses with ice cubes, and poured refreshing drinks for himself and Miss Eells. While they were resting they occasionally glanced at the metal box that Anthony had pulled out of the hole in the floor, which was lying between them on the desk now. It was dented and covered with grime, and it certainly didn't look very much like a treasure chest.

  Miss Eells took a long drink of Coke and sat back. "Didn't think I could run like that, did you?" she said, grinning. "Well, I'll have you know that I used to run in the Hoosac Women's Cross-Country race, until the year when I stepped on a sewer grate and sprained my ankle. By the way, when are you going to open up that stupid box?"

  Anthony put down his Coke glass and pulled the box toward him. He pried at the lid, and it opened immediately. Inside was a small book with a limp black pebble-grained cover. It looked like a prayer book. When he flipped open the front cover, Anthony saw these words:

  The Testament of J. K. Borkman, or

  A Disquisition Concerning the Inwardness of Things, and

  How the World May Be Altered And the Clouds Made to Do Your Bidding

  Quickly Anthony flipped the page. He saw more handwriting, all neat and orderly, running from the top to the bottom of the blue-ruled leaf. The writing said:

  Incense and offerings before the throne of the Most High, and seven candles lit to the seven thrones of knowledge, and the four thrones of the bringers of lightning, hail, wind, and snow. How I will laugh, when I have brought low those who mocked me! Jupiter the Hurler of Bolts stands again in the temple. A roaring wind shall sweep aside Unbeliever and Fool, and the slate will be wiped clean, so that life may begin anew....

  Anthony stopped reading. With a puzzled frown on his face he reached across the desk and handed the book to Miss Eells. She flipped back to the title page, and then quickly scanned the lines that Anthony had read. Miss Eells turned a page, and another. She arched her eyebrows and wrinkled up her nose, as if she were smelling Limburger cheese. Finally she heaved a big sigh and tossed the book down onto the desk.

  "Lord love a duck!" she exclaimed. "I have never read such insane bibble-babble in my life! I hope that old Borkman had fun doing this, because I'd hate to think he was serious! And who do you suppose this Pam character is? An old girl friend, maybe?"

  Anthony was thoroughly bewildered. He had only read the first page, so he didn't know what Miss Eells was talking about. "Huh? Who's Pam?"

  Miss Eells reached out and picked up the book again. She flipped to the middle and held the page up so Anthony could see it. Across one whole sheet, in straggling letters, was written the name PAM. Then

  Miss Eells turned to another page. The letters were almost as big here, and the message read:

  PAM UNDER THE CRACK OF NOON

  Miss Eells turned some more pages. She held up the book once again and showed Anthony some more words, scrawled diagonally across two whole leaves this time:

  Question: does the sonorous bus go ______-______?

  Miss Eells pitched the book onto the desk. She shook her head slowly and frowned. "That sure does take the burnt cookie!" she muttered. "I knew old J.K. was dotty, but I guess I didn't realize quite how dotty he was!" Miss Eells laughed suddenly. "Hah! I wonder if Mrs. Oxenstern would like this book for our library? She could put it in the Rare Book Room—I'm sure it's the only one of its kind in existence!"

  Anthony didn't laugh. He just looked pouty and stared at the desk. He had hoped they'd found a real treasure, not just junk. Why couldn't the box have contained a letter by William Shakespeare? He had read somewhere that a genuine Shakespeare letter would be worth a million and a half dollars, if anyone ever came up with one. This crummy book was worth about three cents. And for that they had nearly gotten eaten alive!

  Miss Eells glanced at her watch and announced it was time to go. Anthony got up. He stared dejectedly at the objects on the desk.

  "Whaddaya think I ought to do with these, Miss Eells?" he asked, pointing.

  Miss Eells shrugged. "Suit yourself. If I were you, though, I'd pitch the box and save the book. Who knows? Some day a notebook kept by the famous eccentric J. K. Borkman may be worth some money."

  Anthony took Miss Eells's advice. After throwing the box in a wastebasket and tucking the book under his arm, he helped Miss Eells turn out the lights and lock up the library. Anthony went out behind the building and got his bike. He put it in the trunk of Miss Eells's car and tied the trunk lid down with some old bicycle inner tubes that Miss Eells carried around with her.

  As they sped away Miss Eells and Anthony did not notice the black Packard that came rolling up out of the leafy hollow behind the library. It slowed down and halted as it drew near the crossroads, and for several minutes it just sat with its motor idling. Then the car turned right and headed on up the road toward Hoosac.

  The rest of August passed uneventfully. Mrs. Trombly got better and went back to her job at the Rolling Stone library, and Miss Eells happily returned to her job in Hoosac. September came, and Anthony started as a freshman at Hoosac High School. And amid all the hurry and confusion of the new school year, he quickly forgot about the strange adventure that he and his eccentric friend had had.

  One chilly evening in the middle of September, Anthony was sitting at one of the long tables in the East Reading Room of the Hoosac library. He had finished shelving books, and now he was trying to catch up on his homework. Except for Miss Eells and himself the library was empty. She was sitting at the main desk and reading the Hoosac Daily Sentinel. Suddenly she let out a loud exclamation.

  "Good heavens!"

  Anthony looked up. He was startled to hear loud talking in the library. "Huh? What is it?"

  Miss Eells beckoned to Anthony. "Come over here, my friend, and you'll see. It has to do with the little incident we were involved in last month. Weird things are going on around Hoosac."

  Anthony got up and walked over to the desk. Miss Eells had the paper spread out flat in front of her, and with her forefinger she tapped a headline that read old estate to be renovated. Above the story was a photo, and with a shock Anthony recognized the place where it had been taken: it was the weedy, overgrown garden at the Weatherend estate! But the garden looked different now. The bushes had been pruned, and the overturned stone benches had been set back in place. The broken statues had been repaired, and heads had been put on the two stone sphinxes that crouched at the top of the staircase.

  "My gosh, Miss Eells," exclaimed Anthony. "Somebody's fixing the old place up!"

  "Yes, my friend, somebody certainly is," she replied, and she gave Anthony a strange, unreadable look. "Well, go on. Read the article underneath. It's fascinating, in a way."

  Anthony looked down at the story that went with the picture and read:

  Lovers of architecture and historical preservationists will be delighted to learn that the estate of Weatherend, on the Winona Post Road six miles south of Rolling Stone, is going to spring to life again. It has recently been revealed that A. Anders Borkman, the son of J. K. Borkman, has returned from a lengthy stay in Norway and will take up residence in the house that his father built. Mr. Borkman plans to completely restore and renovate the mansion and its grounds. He is independently wealthy and a collector of antique statues and other art objects. When Weatherend has been restored to its former grandeur, Mr. Borkman plans to organize guided tours and is also slated to give lectures on architecture and sculpture at Immaculate Conception Academy. Those in the Hoosac area who remember the elder Mr. Borkman w
ill be interested to know that his son has brought back to the estate the collection of barometers and other meteorological instruments....

  Anthony stopped reading. He turned to Miss Eells with a frown on his face. "My gosh!" he said. "Do you think that's the guy who waved at us before he turned his dog loose?"

  Miss Eells took off her glasses and rubbed at the bridge of her nose with her fingers. "Could be. Or it might have been one of his pals—if he has any. This whole business really amazes me. I can't imagine that J. K. Borkman had a wife and son. It's... well, it's sort of like Dracula settling down to be a restaurant owner in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. It's very, very unlikely. But the son is here, and he seems—God help us—to be following in his dear old daddy's footsteps. You'd think he could find something better to do with his time than to imitate that old creep."

  Again Anthony looked at the photograph. An odd thought had occurred to him. "Do... do you think he'll do anything with those statues that we found in the garage?"

  Miss Eells smiled wryly. "Oh, he'll probably set them up in some place of honor. For all I know, they may be wonderful examples of modern sculpture. Ah, well. Let's leave Mr. Borkman and his unfriendly dog and his crazy statues. There are other weird things going on in the Upper Mississippi Valley." She turned the page. "Did you know that there has been a rash of break-ins lately? In Catholic churches?"

  Anthony stared. He hadn't heard about this.

  "Mm-hmm," Miss Eells went on, nodding. "And do you know what they've been stealing? The altar stones!"

  Again Anthony stared. His folks didn't go to church, so "altar stones" meant nothing to him.