The Hanging Hill (13 page)

59

Before, anyone, else arrived, while his mom was upstairs slathering on her last layer of face paint, Derek Stone had rehearsal room A all to himself.

He pulled out the secret script the director had just given him.

He stared at the paper.

Uh-oh.

The words were gobbledygook. Thank goodness for Mr. Grimes’s phonetic translations!

“O, magnus Molochus.”

What could it mean?

“Nos duo vitam nostram damus ut vos omnes qui hue arcessiti estis vivatis.”

Okay. Something about noses and dames, which was what they used to call girls in black-and-white movies.

The door swung open. Tomasino Carrozza came bounding into the room.

Derek hid the secret script in his pants.

He’d have to work on this later. No more monster truck. No more Burnout Dominator on his PlayStation Portable. No more goofing off with Meghan and Zack down in the basement.

Derek Stone had work to do!

Reginald Grimes thought he was a great actor.

He had lots and lots and
lots
of work to do.

60

“Sorry if the room’s kind of messy,” the company manager said to the group of actors gathered around the snack table at the back of the rehearsal room. “Mr. Kimble, our custodian, didn’t show up for work today. First time that’s happened since forever.”

“You want a doughnut?” Judy asked Zack.

“No thanks.”

She looked at him. “You feeling okay, hon?”

“Never better.”

Zack wished he could tell Judy about all he had seen last night, because he and Judy had slain the demon of the crossroads
together
. Now, however, Mr. Willowmeier wanted Zack to fly solo. Why? Who knew? In Zack’s experience, ghosts had their own screwy reasons for doing what they did, even if it made very little sense to people on the other side of the dirt. It was what made phantoms so unfathomable.

He just wished one of the night fliers would drop by during the day and give him a solid hint about what it was he was actually supposed to do.

“This is so exciting!” said Judy, looking around the room. “Our first real rehearsal!”

“Yeah. Maybe I will grab a doughnut.”

“Okay. Then come sit next to me at my table, okay?”

“Okay.”

Judy went to greet her composer, who was spreading out sheet music on the piano.

“Five hundred people auditioned for my part,” Zack heard one of the actors say. “I was honored to be chosen.”

“Especially by Reginald Grimes!” gushed an actress. “I heard he saw a
thousand
women for my role.”

Zack wondered if anybody else had “auditioned” for his role as demon slayer. If so, maybe his understudy could go on, because Zack wasn’t sure he wanted to do whatever it was Justus Willowmeier III and the other dearly departed show people wanted him to do.

He didn’t want to keep dealing with the demands of the dead. In fact, he wanted dead people to leave him alone. He wanted to be an ordinary kid!

Of course, Zack still wasn’t 100-percent convinced that he had seen what he thought he had seen last night. It might’ve been an incredibly bad dream.

Maybe he and Zipper had never even left his bed or seen Princess Nepauduckett dangling in the elevator or met all those other ghosts outside.

But what if it
was
true?

What if Meghan, Derek, and Judy needed him to be a demon slayer—just like Mr. Willowmeier had said they did?

Zack grabbed two doughnuts.

61

Reginald Grimes swept into the rehearsal room, followed by his assistant, Hakeem.

“People?” said Hakeem, clapping his hands. “We have much work to do today. Where’s Miss McKenna?”

On cue, Meghan bolted through the door, followed by her mom.

“Sorry. I have a slight problem with the snooze function on alarm clocks.”

“Deal with it!” snapped Grimes as he glowered at Mrs. McKenna. “Who, pray tell, are you?”

“I’m Meghan’s mom.”

“Why are you here?”

“Uh,” said Meghan, “she’s my mom?”

The door flew open again and Mrs. Stone stumbled into the room, teetering on six-inch high heels.

“Good morning!” When she flashed her glossy smile, Zack saw lipstick on her beaver-sized teeth.

“And who are
you?”
demanded Grimes.

“That’s
my
mom, sir!” said Derek.

Mrs. Stone toddled forward. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Grimes!”

He ignored her and slumped down into his metal folding chair.

“Announcement!” said Grimes. “Tonight, I’m hosting a small private party to honor our two youngest stars—Meghan McKenna and Derek Stone!”

“Sounds like fun!” said Derek.

“Oh, it will be,” said Grimes. “I promise. Only the children are invited. Let’s meet at seven p.m. out in the lower lobby.”

“Where’s the party?” asked Mrs. Stone.

“Downstairs. We’ve set up a room.”

“In the basement?” Mrs. Stone sounded skeptical.

“It’s cool down there!” said Derek.

Grimes smiled. “This party is really for the children, Mrs. Stone. Ice cream and cake. Pizza. That sort of thing.”

“But we can come, too?”

Grimes hesitated, then smiled. “Of course. We look forward to the pleasure of your company. And now, will all those not directly involved with
Curiosity Cat
please leave the room?”

“Excuse me?” said Mrs. Stone.

“This is a closed rehearsal!” announced Hakeem. “Anyone not in the cast or in the crew must vacate this room. Immediately!”

Judy turned to Zack. “I could skip this first rehearsal.”

“No way,” said Zack. “This is the whole reason we’re here. Zipper and I will be fine. We’ll probably just hang out upstairs.”

“You sure, Zack?”

“I’m heading over to the library,” said Mrs. McKenna. “You’re welcome to join me there, Zack.”

“Thanks.”

“Mrs. Jennings?” Grimes said crossly. “Are we ready to proceed?”

“I guess.”

“See ya later, Mom.”

Then Zack, Mrs. McKenna, and Mrs. Stone hurried out the door.

62

“I have never been thrown out of a rehearsal in my life!” fumed Mrs. Stone.

“My first time, too,” said Zack. They were standing in the lower lobby outside the closed doors to rehearsal room A.

“Would you like to join me at the library?” Mrs. McKenna asked Mrs. Stone.

“Why?”

“You might find a book.”

“And?”

“Right. Okay. See you back here at seven.”

That got Mrs. Stone’s motor running. “I don’t have a thing to wear!” She clicked away on her high heels.

“How about you, Zack? Want to hit the library?”

“Maybe later. I need to take Zipper out for a walk.”

“Okay. Do you know where the library is?”

Zack nodded even though he had no idea where it was located.

He nodded because the ghost of Bartholomew Buckingham had just materialized over Mrs. McKenna’s left shoulder.

“What ho, Demon Slayer!”

Apparently, it hadn’t been a nightmare.

63

Zack waited for Mrs. McKenna to head up the curving stairway to the main lobby.

She, being an adult who wasn’t Judy, hadn’t seen or heard the swaggering ghost, his lantern jaw set on “heroic,” his hands firmly planted at his hips.

“Uh, I gotta go.” Zack bolted for the door they had used yesterday to head down the spiral staircase and explore the basement.

He slammed it behind him.

“What ho, Zachary!”

Buckingham was waiting for him on the other side.

“My, but thou art a nimble-footed knave!” He dipped into a bow that involved a lot of hand flourishes in front of his face. “I am your hoped-for guide spirit, here to assist you.”

“What?”

“Did you not recently wish that one of the night fliers would drop by during the day to give you a solid hint about what it is you are actually supposed to do?”

Busted.

“Yeah. So, what am I supposed to do?”

Buckingham struck his hands-on-hips pose again. “Why, slay the demons.”

“Right. But how?”

“That I cannot say.”

“Why not?”

“Rules. Regulations. Those of us who tarry amidst the earthly ether are prohibited from directly interfering with mortal life.”

“Listen, Mr. Buckingham, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

That puzzled him. “You are Zachary Jennings, are you not?”

“Yeah, but…”

“You are the hero of the crossroads, is this not also true?”

“Kind of …”

“You, bonny lad, are special.”

“Hey, I never asked to be special, okay?”

Buckingham nodded knowingly. “And I never asked to be ruggedly handsome, but, alas, as you can plainly see, I am.”

“Look, I’m just a kid.”

“Tut-tut. We have no time for modesty. In fact we have very little time for anything! You have less than nine hours.”

“What? There’s a time limit?”

“Indeed. Now then, I am not allowed to tell you all that I know.” Buckingham leaned in to whisper. “How ever, my spies report seeing two burly ruffians secreting a theatrical trunk deep within the bowels of this basement.”

“The what?”

“Sorry. The innermost recesses of the theater’s subterranean maze of storage rooms and hidden tunnels.”

“I really think you people should find someone else.”

“Fie upon it! Screw your courage to the sticking place, Zachary! We need you. Meghan needs you. Derek and Judy, too.”

“Are they in trouble?”

“I am not at liberty to divulge—”

“Are they in trouble?”

Buckingham first looked around to see if anyone was listening. Then he nodded frantically and mouthed a silent
Yes!

“What kind of trouble?”

“The worst sort! Find the trunk, Zack! And beware Pandemonium!”

“Why do people keep saying that?”

“What?”

“‘Beware Pandemonium.’”

“Good question. I, forsooth, can not answer it.”

“Fine. Then I’ll just have to find out for myself.”

“Huzzah! That’s the spirit, lad!”

For the second time in one day, Zack realized he had accidentally said yes to something he really didn’t want to do.

64

Reginald Grimes sat at the head table in the rehearsal room, pretending to listen to the actors reading their parts out loud.

He would probably give up show business when he became a billionaire. He wouldn’t have time to direct vain and immature actors. He would have a multinational empire to rule. An army of demonic mercenaries to command.

“There will never be another cat like that!”

He looked up.

Meghan McKenna and Derek Stone were reading the scene that led up to the song about the missing cat.

“No, sir. Not in a million years!”

Jinx.

Grimes wondered if he could add a feline name to the list of souls to be resurrected.

Jinx might like to sit on his lap purring contentedly while he, Reginald Grimes, sat on his throne ruling the world!

65

It was only eleven a.m. but Zack was already exhausted.

He sat on the top step of the spiral staircase and gazed down into the basement below.

Okay. He had to figure out this “Beware Pandemonium” thing. Buckingham had just said it. The janitor had said it yesterday.

Zack knew that the Pandemonium Players was the name of the theater’s resident acting company, but why should he be afraid of
them?

He felt a chilling breeze drift up the corkscrewing metal steps. He leaned forward and saw yet another ghost materialize—a woman with wildly curly hair. She wafted away from the staircase and weaved a fluid path across the clutter of props and boxes stored underneath the main stage.

Wait a second.

Zack had seen the back of this particular specter before.

In North Chester!

Sitting in the breakfast room of the Marriott extended-stay hotel across from a guy sizzling in an electric chair.

It was Doll Face!

Mad Dog Murphy’s girlfriend.

Zack clanked down the circular staircase as fast as he could to find out what the heck
she
was doing here.

66

Zipper was dreaming about squirrels again.

He liked the pillows on the bed at this new place. Nice and lumpy, squishy and mushy. He felt like he was in heaven, sleeping on top of a giant fleecy squeeze toy stuffed with Snausages.

And the sun hit these particular pillows perfectly! In fact, he was currently nestled in the most exquisite patch of sunshine and warmth. He figured that it was probably what lying on a beach blanket was all about for humans. He’d seen stuff on TV. Commercials for a place called Florida.

Zipper was in a happy, happy sunshine state.

Until something blocked the sunbeam streaming through the room’s dormer window.

Probably one of those puffy white things up in the sky. Yesterday, Zipper had seen one that reminded him of a poodle. Another one sort of looked like Spencer, a golden retriever he knew.

Slightly chilled, Zipper stood up. Stretched. Yawned and dipped into a back-bending arch. Then he turned around in a circle, trying to find that perfect sun spot he had just been snoozing in. Couldn’t find it, couldn’t find it. So he changed directions. Circled back the other way. Still couldn’t find it, still couldn’t …

He heard a hiss outside the window.

He cocked an ear. Looked. Sniffed.

Yep.

There was a cat out there. On the windowsill. Gray and sleek with yellow eyes.

Zipper wagged his tail.

He didn’t mind cats. They were fine—just, you know,
different
. Slept a lot. Tossed their own toys. Played with tin foil. Didn’t know how to sit
or
stay. Pooped in a box.

But basically, cats were okay.

So he wagged his tail to let the gray cat out on the window ledge know he was happy to say howdy.

The cat shot out its claws. Yowled. Swiped at the window—scratching the glass.

Okay. Maybe this was a different kind of cat. A breed Zipper had never encountered.

For one thing, it was huge. Nearly the size of that raccoon he chased up a tree one time. For another, it looked sort of psychotic. Eyes all buggy and bulgy. Like Chico, this crazy Chihuahua who used to yap-yap-yap at him all the time when he was a puppy living in a kennel at Dr. Freed’s animal hospital.

The cat hissed again. Furious and vicious.

Its eyes were glowing like the yellow warning lights Zipper had seen on the highway. Foam drooled out of its wide-open mouth. Saliva dripped off its fangs.

As the hackles rose on his back, Zipper figured that this feline visitor was a few rabies shots short of a complete checkup.

He was just about to bark when the cat vanished. Disappeared!

Just like those ghosts back at the crossroads.

Which was fine by Zipper.

The fat cat had been the one blotting out the sun.

The pillow was perfect again. Like warm mud in July.

He needed a nap.

He yawned.

Snuggled into position.

Dreamed about squirrels. The slow ones—loaded down with acorns—the ones that were easy to catch.