Shadowland (47 page)

 
   Del was looking at the brothers with a rapt face. 'Are you always here?'

 
   Wilhelm nodded. 'Always. We know you, boy.'

 
   'I want to ask you something,' Tom said, and the brothers turned their faces, kindly and businesslike, to him. Outside, the shelling continued, far off and resonant.

 
   'That is why you have found us,' said Jakob.

 
   Tom hesitated. 'Do you know the expression 'put a hurtin' on' something?'

 
   'It is not one of our expressions, but we know it,' said Jakob. His expression said:
Follow this line, boy.

 
   'Okay. Did Del's uncle put a hurtin' on that train? Did he make it crash?'

 
   'Of course,' said Jakob. 'Aren't you a bright boy? He put a hurtin' on it — he made it crash. For the sake of the story in which you find yourself.'

 
   Tom realized that he was trembling; two shells exploded very near, and dust drifted off the earthen walls.

 
   'I have one more question,' Tom said.

 
   'Of course you do, child,' said Jakob. 'You want to know about the Collector.'

 
   'That's right,' Tom said. 'Is the Collector Skeleton Ridpath?' He saw the other one, Wilhelm, suppress a smile.

 
   'For the sake
of your
story,' said Jakob. 'For the sake
of your
story, he is.'

 
   'Wait a second,' Del said. 'I don't understand. The Collector is Skeleton Ridpath? It's just a kind of a toy — kind of a joke — it's been here for years.'

 
   'Anybody can be collected at any time,' said Wilhelm.

 
   'But it's just a joke,' Del insisted. 'And I don't believe that my uncle caused that train to wreck. He wouldn't do a thing like that.'

 
   Wilhelm asked, 'Do you know our story 'The Boy Who Could Not Shiver'? It too is a kind of a joke. But it is full of the most frightening things ever encountered. Many frightening things conceal jokes, and many jokes have ice in their hearts.'

 
   Tom suddenly felt afraid. The men were so large, and most of the friendliness had faded from their faces.

 
   'As for your second remark,' said Jakob, 'do the two of you know the mouse's song to the rabbit?'

 
   They shook their heads.

 
   'Listen.' The brothers moved together in front of their desks, crouched slightly at the knees, tilted back their heads and sang:

 
Way way way way down in the dump

 
I found a tin can and I found a sugar lump.

 
I ate the one and I kicked the other,

 
And I had a real good time.

 
Way way way way down in the dump . . .

 
The lights suddenly died: a half-second later came the boom of an enormous explosion. Tom felt dirt showering down on his head. The whole room shook, and he momentarily lost his balance. A pair of rough hands shoved at his chest, knocking him back into Del.

 
   He smelled sausage, smoke, sour breath beneath brandy: someone was whispering in his ear. 'Did the mouse put a hurtin' on the sugar lump, boyo? Or did the mouse put a hurtin' on the rabbit?' The hands pressed him back. Del, stumbling behind him, kicked his shins. Rattling and banging: things were falling off the walls, the hails shredding out of the dirt. The hands, Jakob's or Wilhelm's, continued to push him back. The man's face must have been only inches from Tom's. 'Way way way way down in the dump, I found a little boy . . . and nobody ever saw either one of us again.'

 
   Vacancy felt more than seen opened up before him: he heard a confusion of retreating footsteps.

 
   'I'm getting out of here,' Del said, sounding panicky.

 
   Then the door was open and he was backing through it. Tom reached for the knob, but Del caught his elbow: the door slammed shut.

 
   'You crazy?' Del said. His face was as green as an army blanket.

 
   'I wanted to
see,'
Tom said. 'That's what this is all about. For once, I wanted to see more than he wanted us to.'

 
   'You can't fight him,' Del said. 'You're not supposed to.'

 
   'Oh, Del.'

 
   'Well, I don't want him to see us out here.'

 
   Tom thought that he too did not want Collins to see him outside the door. Del already was lost: fright glinted in his eyes. 'All right. Let's go upstairs.'

 
   'I don't need your permission.'

 
7

 
In the corridor outside their rooms, they looked out the big windows to see Coleman Collins just now reaching the top of the iron staircase. The lights pulled a long shadow out behind him on the flagstones.

 
   'At least he was down there all the time,' Del said.

 
   'He knew where we were. He set off the sound effects, didn't he?'

 
   'Then it was a mistake to go into that room. And I'm sorry I did.' Del looked ferociously up at him, and Tom mentally braced himself for an attack. 'You used to be my best friend, but I think he was right about you. You're jealous. You want to get me in trouble with him.'

 
   'No . . . ' Tom started to utter some general shocked denial, but his dismay was overwhelming. Coming so soon after the threat from one of the 'Brothers Grimm,' Del's assault left him wordless. 'Not now,' was all he managed to get out.

 
   Del spun away from him. 'You sound like a girl.' When he reached the door, Del turned to glare at him again. 'And you act like you own this place. I should be showing you things, not the other way around.'

 
   
'Del,'
Tom pleaded, and the smaller boy grimaced as if he had struck him.

 
   'You want to know something,
pal?
Something I never told you? I guess you remember those times my uncle showed up in Arizona — at the football game and at Ventnor. Well, you wanted to know why I never talked about it with you.'

 
   'Because he confused you,' Tom said, happy to be back on ground more or less solid. 'Because I didn't ask about him enough. And he was here, not there, and — '

 
   'Shut up. Just shut up. I saw you with him, dummy. You were right next to him — you were walking along with him, like something that was
going
to happen. I saw
you,
damn you. Now I know why. You always wanted him for your own. And he was trying to show me what you're really like.' Del shook his balled fists at him, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes, and disappeared inside his door. A second later Tom heard the slam of the sliding doors.

 
   Glumly Tom went into his own room.

 
8

 
His dreams were instant, vivid, and worse than any that had appeared on the Carson School notice board. He was operating on a dead man in an impromptu theater, knowing that the man was dead but unable to admit it to the others around the table; he was supposed to be a surgeon, but he had no idea of what had killed the man or how to proceed. The instruments in his hands were impassively foreign.
Way way way way down in his guts,
whispered a nurse with blond hair and passive eyes. . . .
Collected. Wasn't he? Wasn't he?
Something stirred beneath his bloody hands, and the head of a vulture popped up like a toy, clean and bald, from within the open chest cavity. Great wings stirred in the mire. 'I want to
see,'
Tom wailed to the nurse, knowing that above all, he did not want to see. . . .

 
   Coleman Collins, wearing a red velvet smoking jacket, bent toward him. 'Come with me, my little boy, come along, come along . . . 'and Skeleton Ridpath, no age at all, leaned forward in a chair and watched with a vacant avid face. He held a glass owl in his hands and bled from the eyes . . .

 
   and a black man with a square, serious, elegant magician's face was standing in a corridor of light, holding out a real owl with both hands. The owl's eyes beamed brilliantly toward him.
Let him in,
said the magician;
let me in,
commanded the owl. . . .

 
   He stirred, finally aware that a voice at his door was saying, 'Let me in. Let me in.' He remembered, in an unhappy flash of memory, that the man holding the owl had been Bud Copeland.

 
   'Please,' said the voice at the door.

 
   'All right, all right,' Tom said. 'Who is it?'

 
   
'Please.'

 
   Tom switched on his bedside light, stepped into his jeans, and pulled a shirt over his arms. He padded to the door and opened it.

 
   Rose Armstrong was standing in the dark hall. 'I wanted to see you,' she said. 'This place is no good for you.'

 
   'You're telling me,' Tom said, aware of his rumpled hair and bared chest. His face felt numb with sleep. Rose stepped around him and went into his room.

 
   'Poor grumpy Tom,' she said. 'I want to get out of here, and I want you and Del to help me.'

 
9

 
Now Tom was fully awake: his nightmares blew away like fluff, and he was aware only of this pretty girl with her half-adult face standing before him in a yellow blouse and green skirt.
The Carson colors,
he dimly noted. 'I don't mean right away, because we couldn't,' she explained. 'But soon. As soon as we could. Would you help?'

 
   'Would Del?' he asked. He knew the strongest reason for Del's refusal. 'I don't know much about Coleman Collins, but I bet if Del sneaked out of here, he'd never be able to come back:'