Chapter 9: The Mortician’s Eye

  Lester closed his math book and leaned back in his chair.  The sun had set hours ago, and he stared past the desk piled high with homework, out his bedroom window, and into the dark.  Older students had warned him that the workload would be heavier in middle school, and they hadn’t been lying.  Of course, it didn’t help that Mrs. Q’s assignment alone had taken him as long as all the others combined.  If the rest of the year was going to be anything like this, he wasn’t sure how he’d make it to the end.

  On the plus side, he’d been kept so busy he’d had no time to worry over the strange events of the previous weeks.  The incident with the cows seemed a distant memory, and even his brother’s Drawing-In had faded into the annals of boring family obligations.  The image of the old woman from the woods, however, still loomed clearly in Lester’s mind.  Without invitation, her face, framed by gray hair, and sporting that odd smile, made regular visits to his dreams.  

  Examining his hand, Lester noticed his bruises from the bite were nearly healed.  There had been no sign of Mac since their last encounter.  He kept meaning to bike up to the farm to make sure the dog was okay but hadn’t found the time.

  Lester had been relieved to discover that the only class he shared with Thomas was math.  Somehow, the new kid had inexplicably become an instant favorite of Mrs. Q’s.  Lester had never seen the curmudgeonly teacher behave as if she actually liked a student before and found the sight unsettling.  He’d made the mistake of mentioning this to Amanda, who’d quickly gotten defensive.  She suggested that if she had to put up with Mae, the least Lester could do was give Thomas a chance.  When he’d pointed out that she didn’t exactly put up with Mae, Amanda had mumbled something about one more vampire lecture and wandered off.

  Yawning, Lester watched his reflection in the window.  He was trying to decide if he looked a bit older or just more tired when his mother yelled from downstairs that dinner was ready.  He switched off his desk lamp and walked through the darkened room but stopped abruptly in the doorway at the sound of a whispered conversation.

  “I appreciate the initiative,” his father was saying.  “I really do, but not this time, okay?”  Lester heard his brother’s voice reply, but it was too quiet to make out.  “That’s true,” continued his father, “but this isn’t the Drawing-In ceremony.  You’re not ready.”

  Lester carefully leaned his head out into the hall and saw his father and brother standing at the bottom of the staircase, near the front door.

  “I received this from Mr. Noxumbra.” his father said, unfolding a square piece of paper.  Bernard leaned in close but didn’t touch it.  “Mr. Poole is meeting me at The Morticians.  The two of us can handle it should anything go wrong.  Alright?” 

  His brother looked disappointed but nodded in agreement.

  “Good man,” their father said.  He turned to go, but Bernard grabbed his arm.  Lester watched as his brother pulled something from around his neck and held it out.  “I guess it couldn’t hurt,” said Mr. North.  His hand closed around the chain, and the small medallion dangling from the end began to glow. 

The square white van bounced along, and Lester shifted his position atop the pile of mailbags, bracing his feet against the dash to keep from falling off.  Postal trucks weren’t designed for passengers.  The only official seat was behind the wheel, where Ben Titus hummed to himself as he drove.  The back of the van was piled high with plastic totes, leaving just enough space for the small bicycle that stood tucked between them.

  Lester had waited until he’d heard his father leave before descending the stairs for dinner.  He’d been prepared to make a big show of being tired.  But both his mother and brother were unusually quiet, and neither protested when he excused himself after only a few bites.  Back in his room, he’d covered some pillows with a blanket, pulled on a dark sweatshirt, and quietly climbed out his bedroom window into the branches of a large oak tree.  From there, it was an easy trip down to the ground and then to the post office. 

  “So, what’s on the agenda for this evening?” Ben asked, not taking his eyes off the road.

  “The comic book store and then maybe the library,” Lester replied, glad for the distraction.  He was a terrible liar and hoped not having to deceive Ben to his face might make his story more believable.

  “And you’re sure your parents are okay with you riding back in the dark?”

  “Oh, yeah.  I do it all the time.”  Lester tried to sound confident, but to head off any follow-up questions, he quickly changed the subject.  “Ben?  When you were my age, did you want to be a postman?”

  Ben laughed.  “Heck no.  When I was your age, I wanted to be Captain America!”

  “Come on, Ben.  Be serious.”

  “Oh,” Ben said, sparing a glance at Lester.  “It’s a serious conversation we’re having.  In that case, I’d have to say no.  I don’t think I had any idea what I wanted to do with my life when I was your age.  Do you?”

  “Not really,” said Lester.

  “That’s okay.  No one expects you to have it all figured out at eleven.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Lester looked out the window at the scene flowing by.  They had descended along the narrow road that wound its way down through the forest surrounding Giles Hollow and emerged into the valley below.  Here, the landscape flattened, and clusters of new houses were lit by bright street lights, marking the outskirts of the town of Elmwood. 

  “You know, Lester,” said Ben.  “When we’re faced with life’s bigger questions, sometimes the only thing you can do is trust your heart.  Right is still right, even if you’re the only one doing it.  And wrong is still wrong, even if everyone else is for it.”

  “And how do I know which is which?”

  “That’s the tricky part.”

  “No offense, Ben,” Lester said, “but that’s not entirely helpful.”  He could feel Ben’s eyes on him but kept his gaze fixed on the road ahead and the thought of where it was taking him. 

  “I know,” Ben said with a sigh.  “It’s one of those vague adult responses to a straightforward question.  Unfortunately, life doesn’t come with an instruction manual or easy answers, much to my eternal dismay.  But as my Molly used to say, when in doubt, think of others.  It’s our duty to help.  That path will rarely steer you wrong.”

  They rode on in silence.  Lester wondered what Ben would say if he knew where he was really going tonight.  Would he be able to tell him if he was doing the right thing, or would he think Lester was the one in need of help?

  The town of Elmwood wasn’t big enough to qualify as a city.  Still, compared to the tiny village of Giles Hollow, it seemed like a bustling metropolis.  Especially in autumn, when its population swelled with students returning for another year at the small college.  Their youthful energy mixed with the flocks of tourists who came to ooh and awe at the bright colors of the changing leaves, pick apples, drink cider, and purchase pumpkins.  The season was a vital part of the local economy, as visitors spent money everywhere in town – with one exception.

  It would be generous to call The Mortician’s Eye pub uninviting.  Every inch of the decrepit two-story building was painted black, including the windows and its precariously tilting chimney.  A sagging roof and cracked front walkway, overgrown with thorny bushes, lent an abandoned and possibly haunted air to the place.  In fact, the only indication that it was a functioning business at all was a small hand-painted sign, in which the letter O in the word mortician had been replaced with a menacing-looking eye.

  As they strolled Elmwood’s quaint Main Street, tourists and locals alike gave the entrance to the pub a wide berth.  This was entirely unnecessary, as any kid who hung out at the skatepark could tell you.  All the real action at The Mortician’s Eye took place in the alley out back.

  Lester climbed to the top of the half-pipe ramp and lay down on the flat landing.  Though it was September, the night had a hint of warmth, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the overhanging trees.  Hidden in the dark, he peered across the narrow lane to the back of the pub.  Street lights blinked on as the last bit of dusk fell, and Lester watched as a steady stream of the kind of people you never seemed to see in the light of day began to arrive.

  His father wouldn’t be caught dead at a place like The Mortician’s, and he wondered what type of business would bring him here and why he would need help from Mr. Poole.  Lester knew his and Amanda’s father worked together but, in accordance with the rules, had absolutely no idea how they spent their time.

  He was watching two leather-clad men park their motorcycles when he suddenly felt hands wrap around his ankles.  The next thing he knew, he was sliding backward down the skate ramp.  Lester scrambled for something to hold onto but could not stop himself on the smooth surface and landed hard on his back at the bottom.

  “Lester North!” Amanda shouted, staring down at him with her fists on her hips.  “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

  “What am I doing?” Lester said, sitting up.  “What are you doing?  You nearly scared me to death.”

  “Oh.  I’m sorry,” said Amanda with fake sincerity.  “Was I the one who left you a cryptic message about some medallion and a half-baked plan to spy on our fathers at work?  Then refused to return any of your texts or messages?  Because if I did, I could certainly see how that would be concerning.”

  Lester pulled his phone from his pocket and flipped it open.  In the green glow of the screen, he winced as he scrolled through a dozen notifications.

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  “You can ignore those now,” Amanda said, still glaring at him.  “Except for the last one, where I promise that when I find you, I am going to kill you.”   

  “Sorry,” Lester said sheepishly.   

  “You should be.”  She shoved him over and sat down.  “What the heck were you thinking?  Wasn’t it enough to almost get caught at the Drawing-In?”

  “Look.  I know you don’t believe me, but something weird is going on.  I need to find out what it is before —”  Lester left his thought unfinished.  

  “Before what?” asked Amanda.  “Before you do something stupid?  Oh, right, too late for that.”

  “You’ll be thirteen next spring, Amanda,” Lester said quietly, his eyes on his feet.  “And ever since Mathis — it’s just been Bernard and me.  You’re the only one I can talk to.”

   Amanda’s irritation faded.  “Nothing is going to happen to me, Lester.”

  “You say that, but —”

  Their conversation was cut short by the sound of a car pulling into the alley.  They quickly ducked down out of view as its headlights swept across the skatepark.  When it had passed, Lester and Amanda climbed back to the top of the ramp in time to see a silver sedan with dark windows roll to a stop behind the pub.  A moment later, their fathers stepped out, both dressed in dark suits.   

  Mr. Poole was short, with a wrestler’s build.  He had white-blonde hair, identical to his daughter’s, which he wore slicked back on his head, giving him the look of a muscular bowling pin.

  The two men walked to the back door of the pub.  Mr. North held out the small piece of paper Lester had seen him show Bernard.  Amanda’s father looked at it and nodded, then followed him inside.

  “What was that about?” Amanda asked once they were gone.

  “I’m not sure?” said Lester.

  “And what are they doing here?  What kind of business could they have at a place like this?”

  “I don’t know that either.”

  Amanda narrowed her eyes at him.  “Honestly, Lester?  Then why am I here hiding in the dark with you rather than at home in my very comfortable bed?”

  Lester thought for a moment.  “What do you think goes on at Council Consulting?”

  “What do you mean?” Amanda asked, puzzled by the question.  “The same thing the whole town thinks, of course.”

  “Some sort of organized crime syndicate?” suggested Lester.

  “It sounds silly when you say it out loud,” said Amanda.  “But yes.”

  “So, bribes for government contracts, moving stolen merchandise, and general small-town corruption?  Have you ever seen evidence of anything like that?”

  “No, but —”

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit odd?” Lester asked.  “I mean, after all these years, shouldn’t they have let something slip at some point?”

  “That’s why they have the rules,” Amanda said.

  “And what about the rules?  Why be so secretive, then just tell us everything once we’ve reached thirteen?  Our fathers have worked for Mr. Noxumbra our whole lives.  Has he ever been over to your house for dinner?”

  “What are you getting at?” Amanda asked.  “If the Council isn’t involved in things that are illegal, then what is it doing?”

  “I don’t know,” Lester said, looking across the alley.  “But what if it’s something worse?”

  Before Amanda could answer, the piercing wale of a fire alarm abruptly split the night air.  From the top of the ramp, they watched as the pub’s back door crashed open and a thick cloud of smoke poured out.  A man with a black beard and arms full of tattoos emerged.  He was coughing and wheezing, and despite his menacing appearance, he looked scared.  Rubbing at his eyes, he stumbled towards one of the motorcycles.  He’d barely gone two steps when a gloved hand reached through the smoke and yanked him back.  Wrenching himself free, the bearded man sprinted for the mouth of the alley instead, only to come to a skidding stop at the sight of Mr. Poole running around from the front. 

  Amanda’s father held his arms out wide as though trying to corral a runaway steer.  When the bearded man frantically turned around, he found Mr. North doing the same.  The two men in suits slowly walked forward, each step tightening their circle. 

  Lester stared.  What did they want with this guy?  Did he owe them money, and they’d come to collect?  He had trouble imagining his father roughing anyone up.  If a stern talking to was called for, his dad was definitely the man for the job, but actual physical violence?  He wouldn’t do that, would he?

  Lester noticed smoke rising from his father’s ungloved hand and thought he might have been hurt in the fire.  Looking at Mr. Poole, he saw gray wisps winding out from his fingers as well.  Lester was about to point this out to Amanda when both men’s hands burst into flames.

  The bearded man stood riveted to the spot as fire flared and stretched from the tips of their father’s fingers.  The red-orange flames twisted out in long strips, floating through the air like burning snakes.  They connected with each other to form a solid ring, which then began to spin. 

  A hot breeze blew across Lester’s face, and he squinted against the glare.  Had both of their father’s eyes just turned a deep red?  He looked to Amanda, who was mouthing something he couldn’t hear over the growing wind.  She pointed at Mr. North’s gloved hand.  It wasn’t projecting flames like the others.  Instead, the fire was being pulled in and redirected by a small medallion that dangled from his fist at the end of a silver chain.

  The flames got higher, becoming a blazing tornado, and they lost sight of all three men.  Even with his eyes squeezed shut, Lester could still see the pulsating light.  He grasped Amanda’s hand and held on, feeling her fingers lock with his.  The heat became so intense he had to stop himself from crying out, not that anyone would have heard him over the deafening roar if he did.  Then, as if someone suddenly flicked a switch, everything went black.

  Lester blinked rapidly, trying to clear the bright spots seared onto his eyes.  He heard the sound of car doors, followed by the revving of an engine.  As his vision slowly returned, he could just make out a pair of red taillights fading down the alley.

  “Lester,” whispered Amanda, her body trembling next to his.  “What was that?”

  “That,” Lester said, his voice sounding too loud in the sudden silence,  “was something worse.”

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