Secret of the Underground Room (2 page)

Johnny gasped. "Wow, Father, that is weird!" He added hesitantly, "Do... do you sleepwalk a lot?"

Father Higgins shook his head. "No. In fact I've never been a sleepwalker in my entire life—until now. Some piece of devilry is going on, and I'd love to know why!" Frowning, the priest slid the piece of glass back into the drawer and locked it. He pocketed the key and turned to the professor with a questioning look. "Do you think I'm going nuts, Rod?" he asked. "Come on—be honest with me."

The professor took a Balkan Sobranie cigarette from the box in his pocket and lit one. "I'd say you were the victim of some kind of obsession. You found that glass with the note on it, and then you started thinking about your mother. You were quarreling with her at the time she died, weren't you?"

Father Higgins nodded sadly. "Yes. She didn't want me to be a priest—she wanted me to be a lawyer in stead. All right, so I might have had my mother on my mind when I found the piece of glass. But how do you explain the ghost leading me to it?"

The professor smiled patiently. "Higgy, you know as well as I do that people sometimes see things that aren't there. You may have seen a shaft of moonlight, and then your imagination did the rest."

Father Higgins glowered, and the back of his neck started to get red. He poked a hairy finger into the professor's face. "You pompous old crumdum!" he thundered. "Are you telling me that I was scared by a patch of moonlight? Is that what you're trying to say?"

The professor stepped back and looked quickly away. He and Father Higgins were old friends, and he didn't want to start a fight. "Well, uh, Higgy, I didn't exactly say that. What I meant was, er, well... "

Still frowning, Father Higgins walked quickly back to the desk and jerked open a side drawer. He reached in and pulled out a handful of yellowed slips of paper. With a flourish he spread them out on top of the desk. "All right, you great genius!" he grumbled. "Have a look at these and tell me if they look like moonlight!"

Johnny glanced nervously from the professor to Father Higgins. He had the awful feeling that the two of them were going to get into an argument, right in front of his eyes. And so he was very relieved when the professor burst out laughing. He pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and waved it in the air as a signal of surrender.

"All right, I give up!" he exclaimed, still chuckling. "Higgy, you're the only person in the world who is more cranky and grouchy than I am, but I like you anyway. Let's see these notes that you told me about over the phone."

Johnny and the professor walked to the desk and stooped to examine the mysterious messages. As Father Higgins had said, they were all written in a fancy, flowery handwriting, full of loops and swirls. This is what they said:

 

The church of the faceless images.

Half a moon is bad—a full moon might be worse—or is it?

Remember the funeral of King Charles the First.

Son of man, shall these bones live?

Drake cake. Bustard custard. Go on....

When Vega is high in the sky.

They must both be destroyed.

You may be wrong about everything.

 

After squinting owlishly at each note, the professor piled them in a neat little stack in the middle of the desk. Then he folded his arms, heaved a weary sigh, and turned to Father Higgins. "Higgy," he said, slowly, "has it ever occurred to you that you might be the victim of some lunatic practical joker? I mean, you told me that there were people out here who didn't like you very much. Well, isn't it possible that one of them left these nitwitted notes for you?"

Father Higgins folded his arms and looked grumpy. "Ye-es," he said slowly, "I suppose it's possible. All sorts of things are possible. There might be green men on Mars with tennis rackets for hands. There might be hockey players skating on the rings of Saturn. But I'll tell you this, Roderick: I've seen what I've seen, and I'm pretty sure that there are dark and supernatural forces at work in this house and in the church next door. And if you doubt what I say... well, someday you may be very sorry."

The professor flinched, as if Father Higgins had just slapped him in the face. What if his friend was right? If the professor made fun of his fears, and then found out too late that Father Higgins really was in danger...
 

"I apologize," sighed the professor as he gave his friend a reassuring pat on the arm. "You have good reason to be annoyed with me, Higgy. I guess I'm just trying to make up clever explanations for things that frighten me. Those notes are mysterious, but there's also something sinister about them—all that talk of funerals and bones and then the card that says
To raise the dead.
What do
you
think it all means, my friend?"

Father Higgins shrugged. "You've got me. As I said, I feel that devilry is afoot, but I don't know what form it will take. That's what's so scary—I don't know what direction the punch will be coming from."

"Maybe you should move back to Duston Heights," said Johnny hopefully.

Father Higgins bit his lip. "I can't. And if I tell Bishop Monohan about all this, he'll think I'm ready for the loony bin." Father Higgins set his jaw and looked grim. "No," he said in a determined voice. "I'm just going to have to wait and see what happens. Maybe nothing will— maybe we're all getting frightened for no reason. But in any case, if I could face the jungles of the Philippines during World War Two, I guess I can face ghosts and notes and old pieces of glass."

The professor eyed his friend skeptically. "Perhaps," he said. "But if I were you, I'd get some doctor to prescribe sleeping pills. You look like you've been dragged around for miles. And I think we should change the subject now and talk about something cheerful. John and I have to be going pretty soon, and we haven't seen you in a long time. It'd be a shame to spend our whole visit jabbering about evil things. The way we're going, we'll be giving John nightmares."

"I'm not scared," muttered Johnny defiantly. He followed the two men back to the easy chairs, and they chattered pleasantly for a while about baseball, Ted Williams's batting average, and the rickety aerial that the professor had built on his roof so he could listen to the Red Sox games. Finally the professor pulled out his pocket watch and announced that it was time to leave. Father Higgins looked sad, and it was clear that he wanted them to stay longer. But he led his friends to the door and shook their hands vigorously.

"Thanks for coming, both of you," he said with a warm smile. "It's good to know I'm not alone in the world."

"You most certainly are not!" said the professor with a mischievous grin. "After all, who else do I know who plays such a bad game of chess? Play the way you did the last time I saw you, and you'll always have at least one friend."

The two men laughed, and they all said their goodbyes. As they trotted down the walk toward the car, Johnny gave the professor a worried glance.

"He doesn't look good, does he?" whispered Johnny.

The professor shook his head sadly. "No. Not good at all. I wish he would try to get the bishop to give him two months off and an airplane ticket to the Bahamas. But Higgy is at least as stubborn as I am, and you know how bad
that
is. I just hope he knows what he's doing."

As he got into the car, Johnny looked back toward the house. Father Higgins still stood in the lighted doorway. He raised his hand and waved weakly. Johnny felt a pang of fear for his friend. Would he be all right out here?

 

Weeks passed, and as the school year wound down toward its end, Johnny became involved in a lot of activities: He got a part in the Latin Club's play, which was a shortened version of Shakespeare's
Julius Caesar.
He took piano lessons so he could do well in the June recital, and he played in chess tournaments with schools in nearby towns. But while all this was going on, he kept thinking about Father Higgins.

One Friday evening early in June, Johnny was sitting in the kitchen with his grandfather. Johnny lived with his grandparents, because his mother was dead and his father was flying a jet in the Air Force. Their home was a big white house across the street from the professor's stucco mansion, and it was full of homey, comfortable, old-fashioned furniture. The kitchen table was round and made of oak, with ball-and-claw feet. Johnny was drinking a Coke and talking about a movie that he and his friend Fergie had seen a few hours earlier. Grampa Dixon, who was standing by the stove warming some milk in a pan, was a tall, stoop-shouldered man with a few gray hairs strung across the freckled dome of his head. The flesh of his face was loose and wrinkly, and his eyes twinkled behind gold-rimmed spectacles.

"Do you like pirate movies?" asked Grampa as he poured the milk into a glass. "I remember once I saw Doug Fairbanks in... lemme see, what was the name of it?
The Sea Hawk,
I guess. That was an old silent film, but it was still pretty good. Y'see, in those days—
Hey, wouldja look at that!"

Suddenly Johnny whirled around. Grampa had rushed to the kitchen window, and he was peering anxiously out into the night. After a few seconds he stepped back, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes.

"I must be seein' things," he mumbled as he put his glasses back on. "Darnedest thing, though. It looked like he was there!"

Johnny was totally confused and alarmed. "Who, Grampa? Who did you see?"

Grampa turned to Johnny with a wondering frown on his face. "Well, while I was talkin' to you a minute ago," he began slowly, "I sorta glanced out the window, an' I thought I saw Father Higgins standin' out there under the streetlight, an'... "

Johnny's mouth dropped open.
"Father Higgins?
What would he be doing out there?"

Grampa shrugged. "Search me! It sure looked like it was him, though. Well, by the time I got to the window to have a closer look, he was gone! Can you beat that?"

Johnny felt queasy inside. His grandfather was not the kind of person who imagined things, and when he was wearing his glasses, his eyesight was pretty good. "I'll run outside and have a look," said Johnny nervously.

"Yeah, you do that," said Grampa. "If it is him, ask him why he doesn't come in an' see us."

Fearfully, Johnny opened the screen door and stepped out into the backyard. It was a warm night, and lightning bugs were winking under the chestnut tree that grew at the far end of the yard. Johnny padded across the wet grass, around the side of the house, and out onto the sidewalk. Lights were on in most of the houses on Fillmore Street, but no one was out walking. The old-fashioned streetlamp glowed as Johnny glanced anxiously around. He peered into the dark mass of evergreen bushes that grew in front of the house next door. "F-father?" he said timidly. Then, cupping his hands to his mouth, he called out more loudly. "Father Higgins? Are you there?"

Dead silence. In the distance a door slammed, but that was all.

With a troubled expression on his face Johnny walked back to the house. As he stepped into the kitchen, he saw Grampa sitting at the table sipping his warm milk. The old man looked up. "Johnny? Didja find... "

Johnny shook his head. "Nope. Nobody. And it's kind of hard to believe that Father Higgins is playing hide-and-seek with us."

Grampa gave Johnny a sheepish look. "Y'mean you think I imagined it?"

Tears sprang to Johnny's eyes, and he rushed to his grandfather's side. "Oh, no, Grampa! I didn't mean anything like that, honest I didn't! Only it's all just... well, kinda strange."

Grampa rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Yeah," he said. "It sure is." There was a long pause as the two of them just looked at each other. Then, wearily, the old man shoved his chair back and dragged himself to his feet. "Well, g'night, Johnny," he said as he started for the door. "Sleep tight."

Johnny stood watching as his grandfather left the room. Cold fear clutched at his heart. He could not explain what his grandfather had seen, and it scared him. With a puzzled look on his face, Johnny turned out the kitchen lights, went upstairs, and began taking off his clothes. After he had changed into his pajamas and brushed his teeth, he sat down on his bed and watched the long linen curtains sway in the night breeze that blew in through the open window. His feeling of uneasiness had not gone away—it had gotten worse. But he was also tired and very much wanted to go to sleep. He looked around at the scarred bureau and tall walnut clothes closet that stood in the corner. It was a nice room to be in, even when you weren't feeling particularly good. Johnny walked over to the door and turned out the overhead light. Then he pulled back the top sheet and climbed into bed.

Aaah. It felt great to be tucked in between cool, sweet-smelling sheets. Gramma kept cedar nuts in all the bureau drawers, and the wonderful smell of them filled Johnny's nostrils. His nervousness had died, and sleep was stealing over him. But after he had drifted off, he found that he was having a very unpleasant dream. He dreamed he was still asleep in bed, but somehow he was able to see the moonlit room clearly. He heard a sound. A ghostly knocking was coming from the clothes closet. At first it was faint, but gradually it grew louder, and then the paneled doors started to shake, and the curved brass handles moved up and down. Still dreaming, Johnny felt his fear mount until it became blind panic, and at that moment he woke with a start. The peaceful room lay in darkness, except for one long gray slash of moonlight across the carpeted floor. Then Johnny turned to his left, and he saw a tall, hulking, shadowy man sitting in the chair next to his bed. The figure looked like Father Higgins.

 

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

 

Johnny was too scared to scream. He sat bolt upright in bed, rigid with terror. His mouth was open, and his jaw trembled. Many minutes passed before he was able to turn his head and stare directly at the fearful shape—but it was gone. In its place, on the seat of the cane-bottomed chair, lay something shiny. Quickly Johnny lurched to his right and clicked on the lamp that stood on his bedside table. Then he fumbled for his glasses and put them on. He turned back to the chair. And what was lying there? A teaspoon. The handle was shaped like a bearded man in a long robe, and under the man's feet was a tiny pedestal labeled THOMAS. Tied to an ornamental loop at the top of the spoon was a price tag. But the price on the tag had been crossed out, and instead these groups of letters had been scrawled on the cardboard: