He ran over to Dill and set the cross down on the ground. Dill ‘mmphed’ and ‘mrrmed’ as Peter tried to unknot the rag around his wrists.
“I know you wanna talk, but we gotta get you out of here, Dill, so hold your horses.”
As soon as the bindings slipped off his hands, Dill immediately reached up and clawed the gag out of his mouth.
“PETER, BEHIND YOU!”
Peter looked over his shoulder.
Mercy was rising up over the other side of the table. Murder was in her eyes.
Peter whirled around to reach for the cross –
Mercy was faster. She reached out and flipped the heavy table over effortlessly. The white coffin spun through the air and crashed upside-down on the cross, pinning it out of Peter’s reach.
“PETER, RUN!” Dill screamed, but before the words were out of his mouth, Mercy was across the room and clutching Peter’s neck in her hands.
“I JUST WANTED YOU TO BE NICE TO ME!” she screamed, and threw him into a carton of old books. Peter bounced off and thudded to the floor.
“WAS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK?” she bellowed as she hauled him into the air again. “WAS IT SO HARD TO BE NICE TO ME?”
She tossed him like a rag doll. He crashed onto the white coffin and rolled off onto the ground. He looked around blearily, trying to focus his eyes on anything he could use to defend himself. A pen, an eraser, a notebook –
A pencil. A yellow number 2 pencil.
Made of wood.
And still sharp.
He put his palm over it and slipped into his long shirt sleeve.
“I just wanted you to like me,” Mercy cried behind him. “What was it, was I not pretty enough? Was I not smart enough? Was I not cool enough?”
Small hands grabbed Peter by his shirt and pulled him to his feet.
He was face to face with her, peering into her black eyes.
Except…they weren’t scary anymore. They were just sad.
“Why couldn’t you like me, Peeeteeeer?” she whispered.
“Mercy…” he breathed.
“Yes?” she asked, hopefully.
Tears stung his eyes.
“I’m so sorry…”
His arm stabbed outward.
Her body jerked a little, and a look of surprise came over Mercy’s face. She tilted her head down slowly to her chest, where half of a number 2 pencil jutted out of her blouse.
She started to fall.
Peter caught her in his arms, and lowered her gently to the floor.
She looked up at him and smiled wistfully. The black in her eyes was fading, like a video of an ink stain played in reverse. First there was a little white near the corner of her eyes, and then more, and then a tiny ring of blue as the black shrunk still more.
He brushed the hair back from her forehead. “I’m sorry, Mercy…I’m so sorry.” And to his surprise, Peter realized he was crying.
The black was almost all gone…her eyes were back to normal now.
She smiled at him again. “Peeeeteeeer…”
And then she was gone.
39
Peter stared down at her. His whole body shook.
Dill was behind him, tugging at his shoulder. “Peter, man, come on…we gotta get out of here…”
Peter looked at the pencil he had plunged into her heart.
She just wanted to be Sleeping Beauty…she just wanted to be Snow White…
He remembered his grandfather’s words in the truck.
I’ll finish the job. But whatever you do, don’t take out the stake.
The books say there’s only one thing to do…
This isn’t a fairy tale…at least not one with a happy ending.
The books aren’t wrong. Not about this.
Peter looked at Mercy’s face, her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling.
He took hold of the pencil.
“Peter…what are you doing?” Dill whispered in horror.
With one strong yank, he pulled the pencil out.
Immediately the hole in her skin began receding, healing.
“PETER, NO!” Dill yelled.
The black…the black began flowing back into her eyes.
Peter held his breath…then leaned over and pressed his lips to hers.
“OH, GROOOOOOOSSSSSSSSS!” Dill screamed.
Beneath him, Mercy gasped. Just a little.
Peter drew back, and looked down into her eyes.
They blinked. Blue and normal. The black was gone.
“Peter?” she whispered.
“It’s okay,” he told her, and struggled to help Mercy to her feet. “It’s okay. The books aren’t always right.”
“…what?”
Thudding footsteps cut short his answer. Peter spun around to see Grandfather standing at the base of the stairs, sweaty and bloodied, eyes flashing wildly around the room.
In one hand he held a hammer. In the other, a wooden stake.
“No, Grandfather, it’s okay!”
The old man raced across the room. “Out of my way, boy!” he bellowed as he raised the wooden stake.
Mercy screamed.
“Grandfather, NO!” Peter yelled, and covered Mercy with his body. “It’s okay! She’s alright! I kissed her!”
“What?” Grandfather gasped, eyes wide with alarm.
“I staked her with a pencil, but I kissed her – she’s okay now!”
“It’s true, it’s true,” Dill groaned from the corner, his hands hiding his eyes. “I saw it all, the whole horrible thing…ohhhhhhh…”
“The staking?” Grandfather demanded.
“The kissing,” Dill moaned.
Grandfather grabbed Mercy’s face roughly and turned it this way and that. He looked at her eyes, then forced open her mouth and peered at the even row of small white teeth.
“Dear God in heaven,” Grandfather whispered.
“That’s Gilbraith Chalmers’ coffin, Grandfather!” Peter said, and pointed at the pine box. “They gave her Gilbraith’s dried blood when she was about to die – that’s what made her a vampire!”
Grandfather approached the coffin and peered inside. From his rear pocket, he produced a cross and touched it to the dried brown stains inside.
The coffin immediately burst into flames.
“Outside!” Grandfather yelled. “Outside!”
“I’m goin’, I’m goin’!” Dill howled as he hopped towards the staircase, rags still binding his ankles.
Fire from the coffin spread to the piles of trash around it.
Mercy and Peter ran up the stairs. Grandfather grabbed Dill under his arms and sprinted up the steps behind them.
By the time they reached the lawn outside, the entire first story of the house was ablaze.
Mr. Chalmers lay sprawled on the grass. His wife knelt beside him, blotting a cut on his mouth with the edge of her dress. They watched in shock as the windows shimmered with crackling yellow light, but neither of them paid any more attention to the fire when they saw the little girl running out the front door.
“MERCY!” Mrs. Chalmers screamed, and ran to her daughter.
“Mommy!” Mercy cried as her mother swept her into her arms.
Mr. Chalmers tottered to his feet, bawling like a baby, and grabbed Mercy to his chest. He sank to his knees and cradled her in his arms. His wife hugged them both for dear life.
Dill, Peter, and Grandfather stood by the old man’s truck and watched the family embrace in the light of the growing flames.
“See?” Peter said. “Sometimes the books are wrong.”
Grandfather grunted.
Dill leaned against the truck. “With everything I’ve seen tonight, I’m gonna have to get some therapy…”
“The pencil in the heart?” Peter asked.
“The kiss on the lips,” Dill scowled.
From behind them in the truck came a scream. “AAAAAAAAHHHH!”
Dill jumped two feet in the air and came down with his hands bunched in his hair.
“What was that?!” he cried out.
There was a banging from inside the metal box in the truck bed. A little girl’s muffled voice called out, “Can somebody please get me outta here?”
“Who’s that?” Dill gasped.
“Agnes – and it sounds like she’s okay now!”
Grandfather cautiously unchained the metal box.
“I think I peed my pants. AGAIN,” Dill moaned.
“You mean, since the other day in the cemetery?” Peter asked.
Dill paused.
“…uh, yes. Yes. That was the only other time, yes.”
Dill paused again.
“And then only a little.”
40
The fire trucks came far too late to save the house, but they watered it down until there was no danger of it spreading to the surrounding forest.
Agnes and Mercy – both fully recovered – cried in a far corner of the yard, then laughed and talked, at least until Agnes’s parents showed up, and then the crying started all over again. A couple of sheriff’s deputies came and tried to sort out how one little girl who had gone missing, and another who had been dead and buried a week, now seemed to be fine and dandy. The deputies spent a lot of time talking to Grandfather, the Chalmers, and Mercy and Agnes. Peter and Dill kept out of the way as much as they could.
While the deputies were still questioning the adults, Mercy broke away and stole over to the truck.
“Hey, Peter. Hey, Dill,” she said shyly.
“Hey, Mercy,” Peter smiled back.
Dill just scowled and hid behind the truck.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“I understand. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be going back to school,” Mercy said.
Dill popped out from behind the truck. “Really?”
“My mom and dad said there’s nothing here for us now…and it might be hard with people talking about it, so…I think this might be the last time we see each other.”
“That’s awesome,” Dill beamed.
Peter kicked him.
“OwwwwWWW,” Dill grunted.
“I just wanted to say thank you. I’m glad we…” Mercy stopped and blushed. “I’m glad it turned out the way it did.”
“Me, too,” Peter said.
“I’ll never forget you, Peter.”
She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Then she smiled and ran back to her parents.
“Oh God,” Dill choked out, and made puking sounds. “This just gets worse and worse.”
“Be quiet, Dill.” Peter laughed, then stopped. Grandfather was walking over.
“Get in the truck,” the old man muttered. Dill and Peter hopped in immediately.
41
Grandfather drove down the tree-covered driveway and out into the main road. The very first light of morning was just starting to color the sky.
“Well?” Peter asked.
“Those people should be hanged,” Grandfather snarled.
“Mercy and Agnes?!”
“No, the Chalmers, her parents. Doing what they did…playing with dark forces like that, with no regard for the consequences…a family of bad apples.”
“They just wanted to save their daughter,” Peter pointed out. “Wouldn’t you have done that for Mom? Or for Beth?”
Grandfather looked down at him and narrowed his eyes.
“Or me?” Peter asked.
“Them, maybe. But not a troublemaker like you,” Grandfather grunted, and turned back to the road.
Peter smiled. Things were definitely back to normal now.
“What if Agnes talks?” Dill asked worriedly.
“She won’t,” Grandfather answered.
“How do you know?”
Grandfather glowered. “I made sure of it.”
“What about Mercy?” Peter prodded. “She said this was going to be the last time I see her.”
“Which is a good thing, as far as I’m concerned,” Dill added.
“I convinced her father that getting out of town might be just what the family needs,” Grandfather said.
“You did that?”
“Thanks, man,” Dill said gratefully. “I owe you one.”
“The official story will be that Mercy had a rare heart condition, one that caused her to lapse into a coma. The family, in their grief, dug up her coffin and miraculously found her alive. In their shock, Mr. Chalmers knocked over a lantern and set the house ablaze.”
“And Agnes?”
“In a fit of mourning, Agnes ran away from home and was sleeping in Mercy’s old bedroom, unbeknownst to the Chalmers. Luckily she made it out of the house, too, after the fire started. And that’s the official story, to be entered into the town history books,” Grandfather stated bitterly.
“Poop,” Dill said.
Grandfather turned sharply towards Dill. “What?!”
“It’s like the cholera story,” Dill explained. “The official story. Death by poop.”
“Hm.” Grandfather turned back to the road. “A whole avalanche of it, boy. History repeats itself once again.”
“What about Katie?” Peter asked.
“Who?”
“The girl who called you. She saw Mercy – in fact, she saw Mercy fly off with Dill.”
“Hrm.” Grandfather paused. “Did anyone else?”
“No.”
“Well, you’ll just have to deny it, then.”
“You want us to lie? Everybody’ll think she’s crazy!”
“I can live with that,” Dill nodded.
“Just stick to the official story,” Grandfather said. “The unofficial story always has a way of getting out, anyhow.”
“But how are Mercy and her parents going to move? Do they have insurance?”
“No.”
“Then how are they going to move without any money?”
“They have it now,” Grandfather scowled.
“How? No one’s going to buy a burned-down house.”
“I already did. On the condition that they leave and never return.”
Dill and Peter stared, open-mouthed.
“Mom said you were doing okay when we moved here, but…you have that much money?” Peter asked.
“I have enough.”
“Can I borrow a twenty?” Dill pleaded with his best puppy dog smile.
“No.”
“How about a dollar?”
“No.”
“You know,” Dill said, looking down at his hand like he was studying his nails, “somebody might start asking some questions someday…and, well…I might just start talkin’.”
Grandfather jammed on the brakes and screeched the truck to a halt.
“I won’t talk,” Dill babbled in panic, and made a zipping motion over his lips. “I swear!”
“We’re home,” Grandfather snarled.
Peter looked outside. Sure enough, there was the giant gloomy house. The sun was just beginning to peek over the treetops of the forest.
Dill bolted out the truck door. Peter followed him.
“You an’ me are okay, right?” Dill called out to the old man…from a safe distance. “We’re still friends, right?”
Grandfather didn’t say anything, just walked towards the front door and went inside.
“Jeez, your grandpa hates me,” Dill muttered.
“Well, when you try to blackmail him…” Peter trailed off, then grinned. “We did it, Dill.”
Dill put out his hand as though to keep Peter away. “Don’t talk to me.”
Peter looked genuinely surprised. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s your fault I saw what I saw tonight!”
“Look, I’m sorry I dragged you to Katie’s house – but it all turned out okay. Besides, you got to fly! That must’ve been really cool!”
Dill reflected for a second. “Actually, that was really cool. Except when I peed my pants.”
“I thought you said – ?
??
Dill flailed his arms all around like a crazy man. “That’s not what I’m talking about!”
Peter looked puzzled. “Then what?”
“YOU KISSED HER, MAN!”
“Yeah?”
“How could you DO that? How could you do that to me?! Make me watch that, blechh…”
Peter smiled. He knew exactly what to say to make Dill flip out.
“You know…it wasn’t that bad.”
“OH GROSS! Dude, this is worse than a chick flick!”
“I was thinking about doing it again…”
“AAAAAAHHH! STOP! STOP IT!” Dill stormed off towards his own house. “I’m going to be sick,” he muttered to himself.
“Hey Dill – ”
“Don’t ‘Hey, Dill,’ me! I don’t know who you are anymore!”
“Kissing is great, Dill – you should try it sometime.”
Dill pointed angrily at Peter. “I DO NOT EVER WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS EVER AGAIN! EVER!”
“See you at the bus stop in an hour, Dill,” Peter called.
Dill grumbled and snuck into his front door.
Peter grinned and looked back at his own yard. He had about thirty minutes before his Mom got up – thirty minutes to pick up all the garbage scattered by the trashcans and come up with a believable excuse for why the back screen door was shredded to bits.
Piece o’ cake.
He yawned and then whistled a tune as he walked towards the house.
The sun rising over the trees had never looked so beautiful.
The Adventure Continues In PETER AND THE CHANGELING,
Story #3 in the PETER AND THE MONSTERS saga!
Buy the Kindle ebook here now, or check out the next few pages for a sneak peek!
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PETER AND THE CHANGELING
1
Peter’s little sister Beth was crazy, there was no doubt about that. He just never realized how crazy until the afternoon of Mom’s job interview.
Peter and Dill had come home from school and were sitting in the kitchen eating ice cream sandwiches. Peter was a straightforward kind of guy who just took big bites out of his, while Dill claimed there was an art to it. He held up the bar of vanilla ice cream with its chocolate wafers on the top and bottom, then demonstrated step by step.
“First you gotta wait till the chocolate bread is soft. Then you gotta lick the ice cream sticking out between the bread pieces…then you gotta bend the bread top and bottom till they touch and you got, like, a big ‘ol chocolate ravioli with ice cream inside. Then you eat it.” He wolfed the ‘ravioli’ down in two bites. “Mmmmm MMM.”