Attack of the Spider Bots (7 page)

“Long legs and a small body,” said Ghoulie. “Better that than the other way around.”

“They're like giant daddy longlegs,” said Beamer.

“Yeah, and daddy longlegs aren't dangerous,” said Ghoulie.

“Let's hope these dudes aren't either,” added Scilla.

Suddenly two legs from one of the creatures folded at the joints and clasped Scilla. “Eiiiiiiiii!” she screamed in a pitch that probably broke every glass within a mile. But all the creature did was scoot her more securely within its encircling set of spindly legs. “Let me go, you oversized bag of stilts!” she shouted and tried to escape by squeezing between the legs. The legs, however, gave her a small electric shock, and she jumped back into the middle.

“Please walk as we walk,” the creatures said as with one voice.

Scilla, being the especially stubborn sort, refused to move until the beast's back legs shocked her into moving. She endured several shocks, yelping each time, before she finally fell into step. The creatures clanked mechanically as they moved, sometimes with squealing and scraping sounds, as if they needed oil.

“We weren't just breaking in, you know,” Beamer said nervously to their captors. “I mean, we don't do that sort of thing — vandalism and stuff. We just wanted to see Mr. Parker. We've met his sister — you know, the one in the Castle near the park. In fact, we accidentally found his train set the other day. It's really cool.” If Beamer hoped to charm the mechanical spider, he was mistaken. The creature in the hard jacket on stilts said nothing.

“Really, you don't need to worry about us. We're totally harmless. Even my mom thinks so, except when I track in dirt and trigger the automatic vacuum into going nuts. And you can ignore anything my sister says about me. She's certifiable.” The only thing Beamer heard was the clanking of the mechanical stilts. His abductor was clearly the silent type. “Incidentally, they know where we are — sort of. So, if I'm not home for dinner, you could get into a lot of trouble.”

“Hey, I bet you'd like my tree house. It's shaped like a spaceship. Nobody ever believes us when we talk about it, but it's really kind of magical. We get to go all over the — ”

Beamer received an electrical shock as he tripped over the driveway. Cracked and overgrown with weeds, it circled a large water fountain that looked like it hadn't been spouting water since soon after the invention of plumbing. The far side of the driveway skirted a broad porch lined with tall columns. Something about the columns didn't look right to Beamer. He tilted his head and studied them more carefully . . . until the back legs of his prison shocked him into walking faster. By then, though, he had figured out that the columns were set at an angle, running from a wide circle on the porch floor to a smaller circle beneath a balcony above the double front door.

That balcony was also pretty strange looking. You see, the house had a dome. Beamer thought that domes were supposed to be on top of buildings, but this one stuck out the front of the house like a pimple. The balcony was cut out of the bottom of that sideways dome. Just above the balcony, in the center of the dome, was a big round window. Suddenly, the picture clicked in Beamer's head. “Hey, guys!” he whispered too loudly. “It's a train! The whole front of the house is shaped like a streamlined locomotive!”

Suddenly a woman stepped onto the porch and winced in the bright sunlight. She wasn't smiling. Actually, she had a long, lean faced that looked like it hadn't smiled for an eon or two. The good news for her was that her face had no laugh lines. The bad news was that she had loads of frown lines.

“Hello, children,” she said in a high-pitched, whining voice. “I am Mrs. Drummond, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you that I could turn you over to the police for trespassing.” She tilted her face down to look through the upper part of her bifocals.

“As you can see we have gone to a great deal of trouble to maintain our privacy.” Tall and wiry, she wore a long, dark dress with almost no decorations, except for puffed up shoulders. Her hair was piled up in a ring on top of her head, which was held up by a long, narrow neck, reminding Beamer of those aliens you'd see in movies who had big heads tilting and turning on tiny necks.

“However, I am going to overlook your actions this time. But I warn you against repeating this intrusion. Mr. Parker is very ill. He was once a very brilliant man, as you can see from these sentry creatures he constructed long ago. Incidentally, I must ask that you tell no one of the existence of these creatures. Mr. Parker's health is very fragile, and any undue excitement can pose a danger to him,” she added with a cold smile.

Beamer felt his face flush at the same time a chill spread down toward his feet. It hadn't occurred to him that they might endanger the man's health by dropping by.

She glanced up at the sentries and ordered, “See that these children leave the premises and then return to your posts.” Without another glance at the kids, she turned around and reentered the house.

Something about the way she whirled around, her head turning slower than her body like a snake pivoting about, with her arms lifted high in a gesture of dismissal, gave Beamer the brief image of a dragon with its wings spread, guarding a cave full of treasure.

About half an hour later Beamer closed his front door and turned to find a sword pointed at his chest.

“Do you yield?” a guy wearing a mask and armor asked in a gruff voice.

“Yes, Dad, I yield,” Beamer said with a sigh, pushing the plastic sword away with his finger. Why couldn't he have a normal dad — you know, just some everyday SWAT team member or a spy for the CIA? Nope, his dad was the king of make-believe — a theater director at the local college. Naturally, he had to try out the props for each new theater production at home. Beamer had a feeling that his dad would play every part himself if he could get away with it. But then, on the positive side, his half-kid father could often make sense of what made no sense to Beamer.

While his father continued his duel with an invisible opponent, Beamer told him about his experience with Mr. Parker and Mrs. Drummond.

“Sounds like there is nothing you can do,” his father said as he put down the sword and took off his mask.

“Something doesn't sound right, though,” Beamer said with a stiff jaw.

“Yes, but as unpleasant as the lady seems to be, she knows more about Mr. Parker's health than you do. Now leave them alone. It is far too dangerous to pursue Mr. Parker's situation any further. Oh,” he said, changing the subject at the same time he was changing into a helmet with bull horns sticking out on each side. “Your mother and I contacted Social Services about the boy in the trolley station. They've apparently known about him for some time but have never been able to find him.” He picked up a rubber battle axe and swung it around. “Can you imagine that?” he asked as Beamer ducked. “They said that they would try again — maybe bring in the police.”

9

Never-Never Land

“What are we doing here?” protested Scilla, huffing and puffing behind Beamer as they approached the trolley terminal turned ice Castle. “You got your wallet back.”

“Do you want the kid picked up by the police?” he countered her.

They went into the building. Everything inside was linked together in rolling hills of snow. With every step came a
crunch
. They could forget about sneaking up on the little crook.

“Why didn't Ghoulie come?” Scilla asked.

“His parents were taking him out to an amusement park for their anniversary,” Beamer said as he huffed clouds of chilled breath into the station. He banged through the side door, and they were once again in the trolley-car graveyard.

“Is this the right car?” he asked Scilla when he reached the trolley-car door where he thought they'd found the thief 's stuff last time.

“Pretty sure,” she answered as she jumped up to the first step. “I remember that the car next to it had a broken window and a twisted mirror the same as it has now.”

“Yeah, well, something's definitely not the same here.”

The trolley was empty. It was like the kid had never been there. He'd left nothing behind — no clothes, no gadgets, no loot — nothing. “As they say, he's gone without a trace,” said Beamer.

They went on to search the other trolley cars. This time, though, they skipped the ones that required jumping up to see through the windows. If they couldn't get inside, the chances were the little hobo couldn't either, and Beamer didn't want another headache.

“Come on,” Beamer said as he started walking back to the station. “We may as well look for the
ghost
of Mr. Parker while we're here.”

“Ghost?” exclaimed Scilla. “You didn't say anything about a ghost.”

“It's sort of his ghost — we're looking for what Mr. Parker left behind when he disappeared.”

“Cute, MacIntyre,” said Scilla with a crooked grin. They finally found the station office on a balcony above the passenger and ticketing area. It wasn't a pretty sight. Someone had treated the place like it was the city dump. Drawers had been broken out of the desks and filing cabinets. A confetti factory wouldn't have had as much paper strewn about.

“I'll take what's left of the filing cabinets,” said Scilla. Beamer started going through desk and table drawers. “Doesn't look promising,” Beamer said as a drawer broke apart and crashed to the floor.

“Maybe there's more here than you'd think,” Scilla said as she plopped to the ground beneath the weight of a huge file folder. “There's a bunch of newspaper clippings still here — really old ones.” Scilla picked up the first one only to have it immediately crumble to pieces in her hand. “Whoa,” she said and laid the folder flat on the floor between her crossed legs. She leaned over the folder and turned the next page like it was made of thin glass. “Here's a picture of the trolley station under construction, and here's another one of trolley tracks being laid.”

Beamer slid down beside her. A newspaper photo showed a man getting an award from a city official. Beamer started to grab it, but Scilla shook him off. “Take it easy. These are halfway to dust already.”

“Okay, but then what's it say?” he asked impatiently.

“This one says somethin' about going into bankruptcy,” she said.

“That's pretty bad,” mumbled Beamer.

“Sounds like the trolley business didn't make any money,” said Scilla. “Too bad Ghoulie's not here — numbers bein' his thing and all.”

“Happened back in 1951,” said Beamer as he pointed at the date.

They suddenly heard a
thump
above their heads. “Someone's on the roof!” Beamer exclaimed as he jumped up. He ran out the door, then suddenly reappeared, twisting around to look back in at Scilla. “Bring that stuff with you. We'll get Ghoulie to go over it with us back at the tree ship.”

“You got any idea how heavy this thing is?” Scilla yelled after him. But he was already gone. Scilla rolled her eyes, muttering, “Boys talk, girls get things done,” as she carefully folded everything back up.

A moment later Beamer was outside the station. He spun around to look at the roof just in time to get his breath knocked out. He fell back into a small snowdrift with a football planted on his chest.

“Hey, nice catch!” yelled the boy, laughing on the rooftop like a rooster.

“Hey, where have you been hiding?” Beamer yelled back at him. “We've been looking for you everywhere.”

“You and Social Services,” he said with a disgruntled look.

“Why'd you rat me out for?”

“Whaddya mean, rat you out? It's dangerous being here by yourself in the middle of winter. You could freeze to death or starve or get mugged or — ”

“Hey, old Jack can take care of himself. I've been doin' it for a couple years now, ever since my dad died and my mom flipped out on drugs. Come on, throw me the ball,” he ordered.