78
“Head for the door on the right!” Meghan shouted. “The staircase!”
They dashed across the cluttered storage space.
For some reason, this Lilly Pruett ghost seemed different from all the others Zack had ever met. More like a ghoul. The type that can actually feast on human flesh.
Zack sometimes wished he hadn’t read so many books from the library’s paranormal shelf.
“Lilly Pruett said she didn’t do it.”
Great. The hungry hellcat was right behind them.
“She was lying and everybody knew it.”
“Hurry, Zack!” Meghan wrenched open the exit door and leapt into the stairwell.
“I’m coming!” Zack wormed his way around some Styrofoam headstones. He dared to look over his shoulder.
Lilly Pruett was right behind him, toilet breath steaming out her nostrils. She had her hatchet all lined up and aimed at his neck.
Suddenly, something grabbed hold of a belt loop on Zack’s jeans and yanked him backward into the stairwell. The door slammed, and on the other side, as he raced up the steps after Meghan, he heard a woman who wasn’t Lilly Pruett scream, “Leave Zack alone, you crazy witch!”
He froze. So did Meghan.
“Zack? Who was that?”
“I don’t know.”
“She knew your name!”
“Yeah.” He headed down the stairs. Went to the door.
“Zack? What’re you doing?” For the first time since they’d met, Meghan McKenna sounded scared.
“I need to see who it was.”
“Lilly Pruett might still be out there!”
“I don’t hear her anymore.” He reached for the doorknob.
“Zack? Be careful. I think she’s different than the other ghosts. She might be able to actually hurt us.”
“I know. But I have to see who just saved me.”
Zack gripped the doorknob.
He squeaked open the door.
Peered into the basement.
“Lilly’s gone.”
“Good,” said Meghan, coming down the stairs.
In the distant shadows, under the brick archway, Zack caught a glimpse of the curly-haired ghost—right before she vanished.
“It was her again,” said Zack.
“Who?”
“The ghost who led me to the trunk.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know. I can never see her face!”
Zack felt a lump of guilt or shame or both jumbling up inside his throat. Sadness washed over him and left his limbs feeling weak. He felt like he had to cry, only he couldn’t, because he didn’t want Meghan McKenna to think he was a big fat baby.
A lone teardrop, the only one he couldn’t control, streaked down his cheek.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Don’t worry,” said Meghan as she rubbed the moist spot with her thumb. “We’ll figure it out, Zack. I promise. Together, we’ll figure it out.”
79
“Oh, we have quite a collection of Hanging Hill theatrical memorabilia,” said the librarian. “Especially for famous authors to look at!”
She led Judy and Mrs. McKenna into the rare books room. “I’ve pulled out all our historical playbills as well as the archives of our local newspaper.”
“Thank you,” said Judy as she and Mrs. McKenna sat down at a long table. “You sure you don’t mind helping me look into this, Mary?”
“Are you kidding? I was a history major. I love this stuff!”
They flicked on two green-shaded lamps and went to work.
“Here’s something,” said Judy, coming upon an antique playbill. “Professor Nicodemus performed here in August 1939.”
“Great,” said Mrs. McKenna. “I’ll check the local newspaper. See if there’s a review or a write-up.” She flipped through the long sheets of newsprint in a book of newspapers from 1939. “Here we go!”
Judy peered over her shoulder to read the article.
Nicodemus Packs Them In With
Mesmerizing But Horrifying Magic
Professor Nicholas Nicodemus proclaims himself a “resurrectionist” and boldly states at the beginning of his current show that he will raise the dead.
At first, this seems like innocent flimflam, the type of puffery often proclaimed by other magicians plying their trade on the vaudeville circuit.
But in his performance at Chatham’s Hanging Hill Playhouse, the self-proclaimed necromancer (one who communes with the dead), who wears a turban suggestive of the exotic East, was anything but innocent.
After some mildly amusing hypnotism and mind reading antics with willing volunteers from the audience, the “professor” proceeded to summon forth “those foul spirits who traipse between this world and the next.”
The spirits first summoned were harmless enough: a skeleton playing a banjo, a green goblin with a violin, and a waifish young woman surrounded by a flock of fluttering doves.
It was in the second half of his act that Nicodemus crossed the line from innocent entertainer to treacherous sorcerer as he pretended to call forth the souls of Connecticut’s most notorious criminals.
He summoned William Bampfield, a Pilgrim sent to the gallows in 1636 after he killed his wife and three young daughters. Next came the most egregious example of Professor Nicodemus’s ill-considered conjuring, Lilly Pruett, the psycho path who terrorized Hartford in the late 1890s. She swooped across the stage, brandishing her bloody hatchet, the one made infamous in the jump rope rhyme “Lilly Pruett said she didn’t do it.”
It was at this point in the evening’s proceedings that this reporter vacated the theater. I am pleased to report that I wasn’t the only gentleman in attendance who chose to walk out on Professor Nicodemus’s misguided shenanigans. Pretending to dabble in spirituality for the audience’s amusement is one thing. Terrorizing your spectators with foul visitations from the lower depths is quite another!
This reviewer has no idea how the “necromancy” illusions were engineered and, frankly, has no desire to find out. It was, in my professional opinion, tasteless and tawdry gimcrackery of the worst sort!
“Wow,” said Judy. “Sounds like Mr. Grimes’s grandfather put on a pretty twisted show.”
“Mr. Grimes’s grandfather?” said Mrs. McKenna.
“Professor Nicodemus was his stage name.”
“Wait a minute,” said Mrs. McKenna. “I heard Grimes was an orphan.”
“Really?”
“I asked about his crippled arm and the company manager told me Grimes injured it in an accident at an orphanage when he was very young.”
“Okay,” said Judy, sitting back from the table. “Guess you guys will have plenty to talk about at that party tonight.”
80
Meghan and Zack, with Zipper on his leash, bounded down the steps of the Hanging Hill’s front porch just as their mothers walked up the winding footpath from the street.
“Hey, Mom!” said Zack and Meghan at the same time.
The two mothers laughed.
“Where are you guys headed?” asked Judy.
“Taking Zipper for a walk,” said Zack.
“Good idea. I have to head back inside for more rehearsal.”
“I don’t!” said Meghan.
“Lucky you,” said Judy.
“Meghan?” Mrs. McKenna said.
“Yes, Mom?”
“Don’t forget—we still have schoolwork to do.”
“I know.”
“And you have to dress for the party.”
“Really?”
“He’s your director, sweetie. I think a nice pair of pants and a clean shirt would be appropriate. Be back by two, okay?”
“Okay!”
Zack glanced at his watch. They had about an hour to figure out why the Pandemonium Players were called that and why ghosts were telling him to beware of pandemonium.
Zipper led the way as they strolled along the sidewalk and headed for the library.