Drum, the Doll, and the Zombie Page 7

  Their stakeout paid off Sunday evening. Like most boys their age, Johnny and Fergie had a tendency to put off homework until the last minute. Fergie had a big test in Latin coming up, and he was not very good at it. Johnny, whose average in Latin had never fallen below an A, offered to help him review, so the two spent a couple of hours that afternoon running through noun declensions. At about eight p.m. Fergie heard a car outside and got up to look out the window. "It's Higgy," he said in an excited voice. "C'mon, John baby. It's time to fish or cut bait!"

  Johnny didn't know exactly what that meant, but he closed his book, grabbed his jacket, and followed Fergie. His dad and Grampa were deep in a game of checkers, and Gramma was in the kitchen humming to herself. Johnny casually waved to his grandfather, knowing that the old man would think he was just walking Fergie partway home. Grampa barely nodded, and then with a triumphant grin he made a double jump on the checkerboard.

  The two boys walked onto the porch just in time to see the professor's door close as Father Higgins went into the house. "I bet they're gettin' ready to go right now," said Fergie. "What a break!"

  "What are we gonna do?" asked Johnny, feeling cross. "Sneak into the house and spy on them?"

  "Nope," said Fergie in a smug tone. "We're gonna stow away. C'mon, Dixon, we better move fast!"

  They loped across the street. Hardly anyone in Duston Heights ever locked his car, so when Fergie tried the back door of the Oldsmobile, Johnny was not surprised that it clicked open. Fergie climbed inside and hunched down on the floor behind the front seat. "C'mon," he whispered. "An' close the door carefully."

  Feeling like a fool, Johnny got onto the backseat floor and pulled the door closed without making much noise. "Now what?" whispered Johnny.

  "Now we wait, John baby. If they're goin' anywhere, they'll be out in a few minutes. An' if we just sit tight and quiet, they'll haul us along with them!"

  Fergie's cocksure attitude irritated Johnny. "What if Professor Childermass drives his car, smart guy?" he asked.

  Fergie snickered. "Not a chance. You know what a rotten driver he is, an' so does Higgy. Nope, if they're goin' anywhere, it'll be in this car, so all we gotta do is keep from bein' seen. I got it all—Shh!"

  The professor's front door opened, and two figures emerged. They came toward the car, and Johnny scrunched down, making himself as small as he could. Sure enough, in a second the passenger-side front door opened and someone got in, making the car settle a little on its springs, and a moment later the driver slid behind the wheel. "You have everything you need, don't you?" asked the professor's raspy, crabby voice.

  "For the last time, yes, yes, and yes," said Father Higgins peevishly. The engine started, and as the car pulled away from the curb the priest said, "Rod, I hope you know what you are doing. It seems like a long shot to me.

  The professor snorted. "Long shot, my foot! Look, Higgy, all my research shows that the voudon doll gains power if it is kept in a place of death until it is ready to be used. Well, what places of death do we have around here? I'll tell you: the funeral parlors and the cemeteries. Now, it doesn't seem likely that Mama Sinestra has taken up residence at any of our local mortuaries, so that leaves the cemeteries—where the power of Baron Samedi, Lord of the Dead, is at its greatest. That is why I asked you to find out if anything suspicious had been noted in or around our local boneyards."

  The car was moving steadily now. "And that ridiculous report about a bear prowling through Rest Haven Cemetery is your so-called lead?"

  Fergie tapped Johnny's knee in an I-told-you-so kind of way. Professor Childermass sighed deeply. "That was no bear, as you well know. Think, Higgy! The woman said she saw a black shape, squat and heavy and shuffling. Who fits that description?"

  "Mama Sinestra," agreed Father Higgins, his reluctance evident in his voice.

  "Exactly. And isn't Rest Haven a logical place? I mean, the Dixon family does have relatives buried there, and that is where Henry and Kate have their plots."

  "So do half the Catholics in town," said Father Higgins. "Anyway, we'll soon know, because here we are. I got the key to the gates from the groundskeeper. Should we unlock them and drive in?"

  "Heavens, no," replied the professor. "You were in the army long enough to know the value of surprise. We'll park at the curb and then go inside on foot. Since the doll needs constant attention until the charm is exactly right, Mama Sinestra must have settled in someplace that gives her protection from the elements. That means a mausoleum, and there are only a half dozen or so. We'll check them out one by one until we find the old hag, and then give her holy hopping what for!"

  Father Higgins parked beneath a streetlight. Johnny squinched himself into as tight a ball as possible, and he could see that Fergie was doing the same. They need not have worried, because both Professor Childermass and Father Higgins were far too excited and preoccupied to notice them as the two men slammed the car doors shut and walked away. A few seconds later Fergie said, "Peek out your window, Dixon, and see if the coast is clear."

  Cautiously, Johnny raised himself enough to peer out. He could see the black wrought-iron fence that ran around the cemetery. It was about ten feet tall, and every tenth rail was a foot again taller than that, with a decorative spear-tip end on it. Through the rails of the fence, Johnny could just make out the glimmering white oblongs of marble headstones in the darkness. He saw no sign of the two men. "They must've gone in," he said.

  "Let's go." Fergie and Johnny crept out of the car and walked to the front gates of the cemetery. Fortunately, Father Higgins had not locked these behind him, and the boys slipped through, though the old hinges did groan a rusty protest. "Rats," muttered Fergie. "I shoulda thought to bring a flashlight. Why aren't there any lights in this place?"

  "Who'd need them?" asked Johnny. He felt uneasy and excited, as if something awe inspiring but terrible might happen at any second. He gazed around, but at first all he could see was the vague blur of headstones. Only a little stray light from the streetlamps penetrated this far into the graveyard. Then Johnny caught sight of a moving gleam just over the crest of a hill. He croaked, "Hey— there's a light, over that way." He and Fergie hurried up the hill, and as soon as they got to the top, they spotted the shapes of two men walking slowly among the tombstones.

  One of the men had a flashlight, and the boys followed its wavering yellow beam at a respectful distance. Walking was difficult because Rest Haven was an old cemetery, and the gravestones were crowded together. Johnny had served as an altar boy for St. Michael's, and he had assisted Father Higgins at four or five funerals here, so he knew his way around. He and Fergie drew closer to the light until they were just near enough to hear the thin voices of Father Higgins and the professor. Right now the professor sounded testy: "Well, of course I didn't expect to find it first crack off the bat! Come on, Higgy, where's the next one?"

  "Don't call me Higgy, Rod. You know I hate that."

  "And I hate being called Rod, Higgy. Come on—the faster you tell me where the next mausoleum is, the faster we'll be out of here."

  "The Famagusta family mausoleum," muttered Father Higgins. "Just over this way. Don't fall over the headstones!"

  The two men came up to a big marble mausoleum that was almost the size of a small house and designed as a miniature Greek temple. Four Corinthian columns supported the rectangular entablature beneath the pediment, which was triangular. A small stone angel guarded each corner of the triangle. The two on either side bore swords, and the one on the peak was stretching her arms high over her head, carrying a wreath. Carved into the marble of the pediment was the single word FAMAGUSTA. Johnny knew all these details from memory, because it was far too dark to see them right now. He fleetingly wondered if the dead people inside the fancy mausoleum were related to the caretaker of St. Michael's. If so, the family had fallen on hard times, because Mr. Famagusta was as poor as a church mouse.

  Then Johnny heard Father Higgins gasp. "Look at this!" he said. "Why, this door ha
s been tampered with—someone sawed the padlock off!"

  "As I predicted," replied the professor dryly, inspecting the bar and the heavy bronze doors. "Now, if you have quite finished alerting whoever is inside to our presence, let's get on with it— Hah!"

  The professor must have yanked the metal door open hard, because it clanged with a noise that made Johnny jump a mile. "Good God, Roderick!" shouted the priest, but his voice sounded more irritated than alarmed. "A little more of that, and you'll awaken these Famagustas and all their neighbors!"

  "Sorry," muttered the professor. "Nobody home, it seems, but just take a look inside here—there are some empty tins of canned heat, and there are some worn old blankets in the corner. Someone has been sleeping in this mausoleum—sleeping temporarily, I mean, not eternally!"

  Fergie squirmed beside Johnny. "I can't see a thing," he complained. "C'mon, Dixon, let's circle around."

  The two boys picked their way cautiously until they could gaze in through the open door. Johnny felt the hair prickling on his neck and arms at the eerie sight. Inside the mausoleum coffins lay on shelves. Father Higgins stood with his back to a whole wall of them, shining his flashlight down so that the coffins were just indistinct shadowy forms. The professor knelt on the floor, rummaging through a pile of tattered brown Army surplus blankets. "Aha!" they heard him cry. He held up something small and blue. "Father Higgins, you may offer your sincere apologies anytime you wish. Here it is!"

  Fergie made a squeaking, stifled noise, and Johnny looked at him. He could barely see Fergie's face in the dark, but his friend seemed terrified as he stared with wide eyes into the mausoleum. Johnny looked back.

  Someone was stirring in the darkness behind Father Higgins. Someone or something. One of the coffins behind the priest swung open slowly and silently. And then the body inside it sat up!

  "Run!" screamed Johnny at the top of his lungs. "Professor, Father, run! There's a zombie behind you!"

  CHAPTER TEN

  Both Father Higgins and Professor Childermass jumped. Then Father Higgins swung around and brought his flashlight beam up. Cold horror clutched Johnny's heart. Just getting to his feet was the zombie, his slack, lifeless face baleful and appalling. Father Higgins reacted very quickly: He rushed the zombie and shoved his chest, hard. "Run!" he shouted as the zombie toppled backward, landing half in and half out of the coffin.

  Professor Childermass scurried out the door, with Father Higgins close behind him. The priest slammed the bronze doors closed with a clamor that sent echoes clattering back and forth across the cemetery. "Quick!" he yelled. "Pull the bar down!"

  A heavy horizontal bar held the doors closed. It fit into a frame, and normally a padlock hung in a hole drilled through both bar and frame. The padlock had been sawn off, but the bar would hold the doors closed— anyone inside the tomb would be trapped there. Professor Childermass drove the bar down with a loud clang as Father Higgins turned his flashlight toward the boys. "Johnny! Fergie!" he yelled. "Is that you?"

  Fergie and Johnny had crouched low behind a long headstone. Both stood up, and immediately the priest's flashlight beam shone on them. "Yeah," yelled Fergie. "An' a good thing for you too! That creep nearly had ya!" He bolted around the headstone and ran over to the two men, with Johnny following close on his heels.

  "How on earth did you two get here?" demanded an annoyed Professor Childermass. "Byron, Johnny, I am deeply disappointed in—"

  Crash! The monster inside the tomb smashed against the bronze doors. Father Higgins shone his light there and cried out in alarm. Johnny felt sick. With a single blow, the creature had forced the doors open enough for its pale, dead hand to come over the top edge. The fingers clutched at the bronze door and pressed hard, and the heavy door actually began to bend. The zombie was forcing its way out!

  "We have what we came for—let's go!" shouted Father Higgins. "Boys, my car is—"

  "Yeah, we know," replied Fergie. "C'mon."

  Father Higgins took the lead with his flashlight, and Professor Childermass brought up the rear. With the aid of the light, they stuck to the paths between the graves and made good time, but before they reached the front gates of the cemetery, they all heard an unholy clatter of metal. The zombie must have wrenched the doors right off their hinges, and the creature was behind them, somewhere in the darkness. Johnny could picture him lumbering blindly along between the graves, his dead hands thrust out to grab a victim—

  "Quick!" yelled the priest. They had arrived at the cemetery gate. Father Higgins held it open while the other three dashed out, and then he slammed and locked it. They piled into the Oldsmobile, and Father Higgins revved the motor before the car leaped away from the curb with a screech of tires. They were all gasping for breath.

  Johnny said to Fergie, "Now—now—do you—believe me about the—the zombie?"

  Fergie, who was not quite so winded, sounded as if he were sneering: "Maybe, John baby. I'll admit I was scared for a minute, but that might have been just a crazy old guy. They say that lunatics have superhuman strength sometimes, ya know!"

  Professor Childermass growled, "That was no lunatic. That was the late Mr. Jacques Dupont. Blast it all! I should have realized that Mama Sinestra would have a watchdog guard her precious little toy. But we have the doll, and there's not a moment to lose. Now I want to consult my books as we deal with this evil little image. Higgy, let's head back to my place."

  On the way the professor mildly scolded Johnny and Fergie for sneaking along on the expedition, but without much real anger. The old man knew that Fergie had been right: Without Johnny's shouted warning, both Father Higgins and he would have fallen victim to the zombie's incredible strength. In a few minutes the car stopped in front of the professor's house, and they all climbed out. Johnny looked at the luminous hands of his watch and was astonished to see that only forty minutes had gone by since he and Fergie had slipped into the car. It seemed much longer.

  Once again they all gathered in the professor's study, where Professor Childermass laid the doll on the cloth-covered desk. "Now," he said, "I am afraid that your holy water and missal won't work here, Higgy. We have to unmake the doll—take it apart, doing no damage to the fabric at all if we can help it. It may not be at full power, but any injury we cause the doll might rebound on poor Kate Dixon."

  Johnny looked at the horrible doll with a fascinated curiosity. It had changed somehow since his first glimpse of it. It still wore the same blue gingham dress and white apron, but the face had more form now. Where it had once been featureless, the cloth had begun to pucker and wrinkle. One wrinkle suggested a mouth, two little dimples were in the right place for eyes, and between them a nose had begun to form. The face looked like a very blurry snapshot of his grandmother. He shivered, grateful that the spell had not reached its completion. He suspected that if it had, the doll would have been a dead ringer for Gramma.

  The professor fussed with the seams of the doll. At last he smiled grimly as he peered at the doll's hand. "Here is the knot that holds the thread," he muttered, "but hang it all, Mama S. has left us no slack. I don't want to cut the knot, although we might try burning it in two—fire is said to purify evil." He fetched a needle, which he stuck through the eraser of a pencil. Then he used his tacky cigarette lighter, which was in the shape of a knight in armor, to heat the point of the needle red-hot. With the light touch of a surgeon, the professor barely grazed the thread with the needle tip. A little wisp of smoke curled up, and the thread parted. "There!" said Professor Childermass with an air of satisfaction. "Now we can unmake the thing."

  With infinite care, he used the point of a second, cool needle to take out the stitches that held the doll together. He opened it up and took from inside a wad of cotton, with about a dozen white hairs wound around it. He plucked the cotton away and made sure he counted the hairs into a separate pile. When he finished, he muttered, "Thirteen! We might have guessed, eh? Now, Higgy, just to be safe, bless this pile of cloth and cotton and hair, and then we'll b
urn it."

  "Burn it?" yelped Johnny in dismay. "But won't that—"

  "No," said the professor firmly. "I have unmade the doll, and now it is harmless. To take off any lingering spell, Father Higgins will do his bit, and then the parts of the doll will be just powerless pieces of cloth, wads of cotton, and strands of hair. So go ahead, Father Higgins, and do your blessedest!"

  The priest performed a brief ritual of blessing, and then they ceremonially burned the cloth, cotton, and hair. Johnny ran home right away, and he found Gramma looking well but a little puzzled. "Hi," he said as he came in.

  "Oh, Johnny," she replied. "I was just goin' to the upstairs bathroom. Is that where the Bactine is, do you know?"

  When anything surprised Johnny, he stammered. "Uh, s-sure. It's in th-the m-medicine cabinet. Why?"

  Gramma held up her right forefinger. It had a big blister on it, just on the outside of the joint. "Beats the life out o' me how I did it, but somehow or other I musta burned the dickens out o' my finger. Didn't even notice it until just a few minutes ago, and then this big ugly thing popped up. But I'll bandage it up, and it'll be better tomorrow."

  Later that night, Johnny lay in his bed and wondered at the weird magic of the doll. The professor had been right—the blister on Gramma's finger was at the same place where he had burned through the thread holding the doll together. He shivered, wondering what terrible thing would have happened to Gramma if someone had just cut the thread without taking the time to unmake the doll. It was an awful notion to contemplate, and he fell asleep only with difficulty that Sunday night.

  Johnny expected that Professor Childermass would go immediately to New Hampshire to save Dr. Coote, but he was mistaken. The professor explained somberly that he could not use the same methods that had worked with Johnny's grandmother. "We are fighting two different attacks," explained the old man. "First, Mama Sinestra must have made a doll with some of Charley's hair inside it. I checked, and Charley grew ill the morning after the new moon, just when such a doll would have gained full power. That is what landed him in the hospital. Since that doll is finished, Mama Sinestra could use it at any moment to kill our friend."