Boogers from Beyond #3 (4 page)

Before we could figure out what to do, the whole hallway began to shake. The candelabras on the wall vibrated and jerked in and out. The windows rattled. Instinctively, the werewolves tucked their tails and ran.

Then a scream came from somewhere within the walls and echoed through the hallway.

“AAAAAARRRGGGGGHHHHH!”

A gate slammed down behind us, sealing us in from the rest of the manor.

We were trapped!

“Weeeee. Wiiiiiilllll. DESTROY. Youuuuuuu.”

After sitting trapped in the hallway for what seemed like an eternity, we were starting to make out what the voices in the hallway were saying.

“We?” asked Shane. “Who are you?”

“It's not the ‘we' part that's bothering me,” Ben added. “It's the whole ‘destroy you' bit that is freaking me out.”

“We won't be able to stop them if we don't know who they are,” Shane replied.

“Yeah, why won't you show yourselves?” I screamed.

“I wouldn't question them,” Nabila said. “It might anger them further.”

Just then a wind picked up, and the tiny pieces of the broken vase swirled like a small tornado.

“Cover your eyes,” I called out.

“The dust!” Ben squealed. “I can barely breathe!”

Nabila ran to Ben while Gordon ran to the gate that blocked the hallway and shook the iron railings like a crazed prisoner, trying to escape.

The tornado headed for us, and we all backed up against the gate.

“There has to be a switch!” I yelled over the howling wind. “A lever! Something!”

Shane, Gordon, and I frantically searched for a way out while Nabila dealt with Ben, who was having a full-on allergy attack. She handed him an inhaler from her fanny pack as he collapsed at the bottom of the gate.

“Guys, we have to get him out of here!” yelled Nabila. Her hair whipped in the wind.

“Over here,” yelled Gordon. “I think I've found it!”

The tornado had almost reached us. Shane and I had to struggle against the wind to get to Gordon, who was struggling with a small iron door. Shards of the vase whizzed past us, one or two cutting small slits into my pant leg.

“That tornado is going to tear us to shreds if we don't hurry,” I said.

As the three of us struggled to open the door, the wind howled, “NOOOOOOOOOO!”

The small iron door sprung open so fast we were thrown onto the floor. Shane jumped back up and pulled down the lever that was inside.

With a great creak and a rattle, the iron gate began to rise.

As it rose, the tornado shot back down the hallway and blew a window open. The pieces of vase blew out and into the sky and met with dark clouds.

Lightning struck the window, which closed with a BAM.

The wind stopped and the gate was now fully open.

“Let's get out of here,” I said. “This place is haunted!”

As we scurried into the main marble foyer, Director Z came up to us with a concerned look on his face.

“I saw the werewolves run past,” Director Z said, “and I heard a terrible racket—is everyone okay? Did you break anything?”

“Oh, man,” said Gordon. “We were playing fetch, and—”

“Just got a little too aggressive,” Nabila interrupted. “Ben got overwhelmed with the dust and running.”

Gordon and Ben looked at her funny, but we let her keep going.

“You probably heard the thunder,” she continued. “Wasn't that strange?”

As if to back up her story, another bolt of lightning struck the grounds and shook the manor.

“I see,” said Director Z. “Ben, are you okay?”

Ben slumped against Gordon. He tried to speak, but could only cough out a glop of orange boogers—the same color as the vase. He smiled weakly and gave Director Z a thumbs-up.

“I think we need to get him out of here,” Nabila said.

“Yeah, let's get him a little fresh air,” I said, and headed for the door.

I turned the old brass handle, and an icy chill shot up my arm. The door blew open, knocking me back. As I hit the floor the first thing I noticed wasn't the pain of my rear, but of snow hitting me in the face. A lot of snow.

“Whoa,” I said as I slid into Shane, my butt rippling over the marble.

A few Nurses came in and forced the door closed, but even they had trouble finally getting it to shut all the way.

For a moment it was insanely quiet—then my phone rang.

Everyone stared at me as I answered it.

“Hello?” I said.

It was my mother.

“Are you ready, Chrissy?” she asked. “I'll come and get you now.”

“Mom,” I screeched, still winded from everything that had happened. “You can't drive in this!”

“Drive in what, honey?” she asked.

“The blizzard. The thundersnow!” I said.

“Chrissy, the sky is blue,” she said, sounding confused.

“Well, it's snowing like crazy here. You'll never get over the bridge,” I said.

Director Z motioned for me to hand him the phone.

He grabbed it and said, as calm as could be, “Mrs. Taylor, I must admit, I have never seen snow like this before.”

He looked out of the window and continued, “It must have started only ten minutes ago, and there's nearly an inch on the ground already. I can't even see past the driveway. I don't think you should pick up the children. The sun sets soon, and the roads must be terrible.”

A few
mmmm-hmmm
s later, Director Z handed me back my phone.

“Chrissy, I don't like this,” she said. “But if what Zachary says is true, I really shouldn't come out there.”

“Don't worry, Mom,” I said, trying to be as calm as Director Z. “You'll see us in the morning, anyway.”

My cell phone went dead.

“Mom? MOM!?”

With a soft whirring sound, all the lights dimmed and went out.

“Yipppeee!” an old monster yelled from the West Wing.

As the sun set, the snow picked up. I wanted nothing more than to get out of this haunted house.

“Looks like we're having a sleepover,” Shane said as we watched the snow pile up outside the window.

“Yeah, it should be fun,” I added, smiling at Ben, whose breathing hadn't gotten much better. He smiled back, knowing that I was just trying to cheer him up.

“Why don't you sleep in the music room?” suggested Director Z, handing out candles in tarnished old candelabras. “I believe that it's been soundproofed, so the storm might not bother you as much. I'll have the chefs prepare hot chocolate.”

“That sounds good for the boys,” Nabila said, “but I think it would be best if I slept in my own room.”

“Of course,” said Director Z. “You can take the room across from the music room when it's time to sleep.”

“But, Nabila,” snorted Ben. “Will you be okay?”

“I'll be just fine on my own, thank you very much,
habibe
,” she said.

“Do you
remember
what happened in that hallway?” Ben whispered with concern to Nabila. “This place is crazy haunted!”

“So far, we only know that there was something mysterious happening with the vase,” she whispered back confidently. “I'll be right across the hall.”

“Ben,” said Director Z, “I'll get one of the witches to brew an antihistamine potion. You certainly look like you could use it.”

As Director Z left, we all turned to Nabila. Before any of us could ask her, she replied to the question that she knew was coming.

“I lied about the vase because Director Z said that we would have to pay if we broke anything. Did you see how old that vase was? It must be extremely expensive. Plus, he'll probably never notice. Whatever tried to kill us did us the favor of blowing the mess out into the sky.”

“Yeah, but I'm worried whatever
that
was didn't leave with the vase,” I said.

“Well, I, for one, am glad that Nabila didn't tell the truth,” said Shane. “I don't get enough allowance to buy new nineteenth-century artifacts.”

Hours later, after Nabila had gone to her room, Shane, Ben, Gordon, and I sat in the music room. The candelabras rested on the floor, making our shadows jump around the room.

Ben was completely asleep, knocked out from Griselda's antihistamine potion. He clutched his now-empty hot chocolate mug.

“Hey, isn't that the same potion that amped me up?” asked Gordon.

“Yeah,” said Shane. “But you had just taken a six-hour nap in a sea worm.”

“True . . . true,” replied Gordon.

“Okay, guys,” I said, blowing out the candles. “Let's get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

We all lay down. The room was insanely dark. And insanely quiet. Too quiet. Nobody said anything for ten minutes, and then . . .

“This place is giving me the creeps,” said Gordon. “All I can hear is my heart beating; I think I'm about to go crazy.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“I dunno,” said Shane. “I think quiet is good. Relaxing. Maybe this place isn't haunted after all.”

There were a few more moments of silence, and then a harpsichord started to play quietly in the dark.

“Hey, did your mother finally teach you how to play the piano?” Shane asked.

“Noooooo . . . ,” I said.

“It's not me,” Gordon said.

I tried not to screech as I fumbled for the matches. As I struck the first, I saw we were alone.

“Whew,” said Shane, his eyes searching the dimly lit room. “I thought someone was in here.”

“You're not worried the harpsichord is playing itself?” Gordon asked.

“Why would I? It's a sweet piece. Probably French. Baroque,” Shane said.

Gordon looked under the harpsichord. “It's plugged in or something, right?”

“The power's out,” I replied. “Duh!”

I had finally lit the three candles on my candelabra and held it high.

“Gordon, watch out,” I yelled.

A guitar floated past Gordon's head—he ducked to avoid it.

It played along with the harpsichord, and both instruments got louder and louder.

“Okay, this isn't so fun anymore,” Shane said. “My ears are ringing.”

“Let's try to stop it,” I said, and lunged toward the harpsichord.

Gordon followed, trying to silence the guitar.

But they got so loud that we were stopped in our tracks, it hurt so much.

“How is Ben sleeping through this?” I asked.

“Let's get Director Z,” said Shane. “He'll know how to handle this.”

We filed out into the hallway.

“Should someone stay with Ben?” I asked.

SLAM!

The door closed, and all we could hear was the storm, which raged on.

“I guess not,” I said.

We rushed down the hall to Director Z's room, but before we could open his door, there was a scream from the foyer.

“That sounds like Nabila,” said Gordon.

Forgetting Director Z for the moment, we rushed into the foyer, but didn't see Nabila. We kept moving, jogging into the East Wing, only to find the portrait of Lucinda B. Smythe in a tizzy.

“No matter what I do,” she said, “those other portraits keep staring at me!”

She pointed across the hall to the portraits that hung on the wall. They really did stare at you, no matter which way you moved.

“I had a Nurse move me today, but it's no use,” she said. “This place is haunted with wicked spirits! They taunt me so!”

“That was you screaming?” I asked Lucinda. “You haven't seen Nabila around, have you?”

“I'm right here,” she said, wiping the sleep out of her eyes with one hand and holding her candelabra with the other. “What's going on?”

“Were you sleeping?” Shane asked. “Because our room is a little too haunted for such activities.”

“Yeah, can we please sleep in your room?” asked Gordon. “Let's get out of here.”

“Where's Ben?” she asked.

“In the music room,” I said. “Griselda's potion knocked him out.”

“Let's drag him into my room, too,” she said.

Before we could head back, a low moan and metallic rattling filled the hall. We looked in the direction of the foyer and saw a suit of armor shake centuries of dust out of its joints and turn toward us.

Someone or SOMETHING was inside the armor.

“Grigore?” asked Shane. “Pietro? Is that you?”

“Waaarrrggghhh,” came the garbled reply.

“Really funny,” laughed Shane. “Well done.”

Gordon, Nabila, and I backed down the hall toward the banquet hall.

With a loud CREAK the armor raised the huge ax that it held.

“Uh, Shane,” I said. “I don't think this is a joke.”

“Yeah, maybe not,” gasped Shane, and we started running.

Behind us, we heard the sound of groaning, clanking metal as the armor pulled its feet off of the pedestal it was nailed to and clanged down the hallway, ax raised high.

“Hurry, Shane!” I yelled. “It's right behind you!”

“GWAAAAAHHHH!” yelled the armor.

Gordon, Nabila, and I ran into the banquet hall and grabbed the two heavy doors, ready to slam them shut.

Shane dashed through and we pushed with all of our might. The doors crashed to a close just as the ax sliced into the wood.

Eventually, there was a clanking of metal as the suit of armor walked away. All we could hear was our heavy breathing and the storm raging outside until . . .

“I told you so,” screeched Lucinda from the other side of the door.

We sat huddled in the middle of the banquet hall around the candelabra, trying to figure out our next move.

“Are we sure there's not another way out of this room?” asked a frustrated Gordon.

“We could climb out of a window,” said Nabila.

I peered out of a window and gritted my teeth.

“It looks like the windows are almost covered in snow,” I said. “You might freeze before you get to the front door.”

“Maybe we can just run past him. His ax is in the door,” said Shane.

“Wasn't there an arsenal of weapons hanging next to him?” asked Nabila.

“Right,” I said. “But I think we have to try anyway.”

Shane walked stealthily to the door, and tried to open it.

“It won't budge. It's either locked or the ax has jammed it, or both,” he said.

“Drat,” I said, and fell back onto the cold floor.

It was three in the morning, and the snow had completely covered the windows. I huddled in front of a single candle. We were lighting them one at a time in hopes of making them last until daybreak. The others were asleep, and it was my turn to stand guard. I'd begun to nod off when I heard a terrible roar in the hallway. It woke me up fast, and I skittered over to Shane.

“Hey,” I said. “Pssst! Wake up. There's something at the door.”

BLLLUUUURRG!

Another roar floated into the room from the hallway.

“SHANE! WAKE UP!”

Shane jumped up and swayed on his feet. “Whaytuh?”

“There's something at the door,” I said.

Gordon and Nabila were slowly waking up as well.

At the door, the strange creature gave another BLLLUUUURRG and the ax was pulled out of the wood.

“It sounds like a sussuroblat,” said Shane.

“Oh, man,” said Gordon, his teeth chattering. “I hope not.”

The doorknob started to turn.

“Do sussuroblats know how to open a door?” Shane asked.

Gordon jumped over to one of the folding chairs that had been set up for tomorrow's PTA meeting and ran back to the door with it over his head.

“Whhhhhaaaa!” he yelled.

“BLLLLUUURRRGGGHH!” yelled the creature as it opened the door.

Gordon brought the chair down as hard as he could, and—

“Wait!” Nabila yelled. “It's Ben!
Habibe
!”

Gordon threw the chair to the right at the last minute, where it hit the wall with a CRASH.