Don't Close Your Eyes! Page 3

  The sunlight disappeared as we stepped under the old trees. A cool wind ruffled my T-shirt. The house stood dark and silent at the top. I didn't see any signs of life.

  We stepped into the deep shadow of the old house. “Why are we coming here?” I asked.

  “This is where I got that book,” Tara said. “Maybe they have another copy of it.”

  “Or maybe they know something about Inkweed,” Nicky said.

  He pushed open the heavy front door. The wood was warped. It squealed as the door slid open.

  Dark inside. A musty smell floated over us, dry and kind of sour.

  I followed them in. The floorboards creaked under my shoes. We made our way along a long narrow hall. Thick tangles of cobweb reached down from the low ceiling.

  “It's not like a library. More like a haunted house,” I whispered.

  “Don't say that,” Nicky said. “One evil ghost is enough.”

  I yawned. The air inside was hot and musty. Making me sleepy.

  I felt Inkweed slide around my bones. That woke me up in a hurry!

  We stepped into a big circular room with bookshelves all around from floor to ceiling. The room was dimly lit. But I could see that all the books looked ancient.

  A long wooden desk piled high with books and papers stood at the far wall. Standing behind the desk was a pleasant-looking young woman with bright coppery hair and blue eyes. She wore jeans and a black sweater with a pair of gold cat's eyes on the front.

  “That's Ms. Park, the librarian,” Tara said. “Go up to her, Max. She can't see Nicky and me. So you'll have to do all the talking.”

  Tara gave me a shove toward the librarian's desk. She shoved too hard. I stumbled into a table and knocked over a stack of books.

  “Oh!” Ms. Park uttered a startled cry.

  “Sorry,” I said. I bent down to pick up the fallen books. They were heavy and old and smelled of dust and decay.

  Would one of these books help me get rid of Inkweed?

  “Didn't see that table,” I said. “It snuck up on me.”

  She smiled at me. “It's kind of dark in here. My dad likes it like that. He says it gives the place atmosphere. I think it's hard to look for books. But I can't argue with him.”

  I stepped up to the desk. “Hi, I'm Max,” I said. “Max Doyle.”

  “I'm Sumner Park,” she said. “I haven't seen you here before.”

  “Uh … no.”

  “Are you interested in ghosts and the spiritual world, Max?” she asked.

  “Not really,” I said.

  “Stop stalling,” Tara said sharply. “Go ahead and ask her about Inkweed.”

  “Don't rush me,” I said.

  Ms. Park's smile faded. “I didn't mean to rush you. We're open till eight tonight.”

  “Not you,” I said.

  She glanced over my shoulder. “Did someone come in with you?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Well, can I help you with something, Max?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I… uh … well…”

  “Spit it out,” Tara said.

  “Leave me alone,” I told her.

  Ms. Park squinted at me. “Are you joking? Did you really come in here to tell me to leave you alone?”

  “N-no,” I stammered. “It's not a joke. I came to ask you about a ghost. I thought maybe …”

  “You want information about a ghost?” she asked. “Well, you've come to the right place.” She waved her hand. “See all these books? They're all about ghosts.”

  “Good,” I said. “I need help. I mean …”

  “What ghost did you want to ask about, Max?” Ms. Park asked.

  I took a deep breath. “Inkweed,” I said.

  Ms. Park gasped. She backed away from the desk. Her eyes grew wide and her expression became tense. “Inkweed?” she asked. “Why are you asking me about Inkweed?”

  10

  I COULDN'T TELL HER the truth. If I said I was possessed by Inkweed, she might throw me out. She looked so frightened.

  “It's … uh … for a school project,” I said. “I have to write a report.”

  That seemed to calm her down a little. She stepped back up to the desk. “Sorry I jumped like that,” she said, brushing back her red hair. “My dad used to tell me stories about Inkweed when I was little. And they terrified me.”

  “I guess he's a pretty scary ghost,” I said.

  Ms. Park nodded. “My dad told me when Inkweed attacks, he can cover a person in darkness. Just spread a deep shadow over that person. And from then on, the poor victim is invisible. Too dark to be seen by the human eye.”

  I made a loud gulping sound. I didn't like that story.

  “I remember another one,” she said, shutting her eyes. “Inkweed can cover your whole bodywith a thick layer of black ink. As thick as a blanket. And it can't be erased, or pulled off, or washed off. You become like an ink creature. And eventually you suffocate because the ink oozes into your nose and mouth.”

  “Nice,” I said. I shuddered. “Those were the bedtime stories your dad told you?”

  She nodded. “My dad is a famous storyteller. He travels around the country telling his ghost stories to kids.”

  “He … he likes to scare kids?” I asked.

  “He loves to dream up stories,” Ms. Park replied. She motioned around the room. “These books … Dad collected them all. To help him make up new stories.”

  I stared at the old books cramming the shelves. “And he knows all about Inkweed, huh?”

  She nodded. “Yes, he can probably help you with your report. He's upstairs in the private reading room.”

  “Can we see him?” I asked.

  She squinted at me. “We?”

  “I mean me,” I said. I was so sleepy, I didn't know what I was saying!

  “Have a seat over there,” Ms. Park said. She pointed to a chair at a table. “I'll go upstairs and ask him if he'll see you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. Yawning, I dropped into the chair.

  I stretched my neck, trying to wake up a little. I yawned again.

  It was hot in the library. Hot and silent. My head suddenly felt as heavy as a boulder.

  I tried to fight it. I really tried. But I couldn't keep my eyes open another second.

  I lowered my head to the table.

  So quietly … so silently …

  I shut my eyes and felt myself drifting into a deep sleep.

  11

  “OWWWWWW!”

  I opened my mouth in a scream. Sharp, blinding pain stabbed the top of my head.

  My eyes shot open. “Hey—”

  Tara had smashed a big book over my head.

  “Sorry, Max,” she said. “I had no choice.”

  “That book—!” Ms. Park cried, coming back into the room.

  I turned and saw her pointing at me. “Max— that book! It fell on you from out of nowhere!”

  I rubbed my head. “Uh … yeah, I know,” I replied. “It's about lumberjacks. You know— timberrrr!”

  I know. It didn't make any sense. I guess that's why Ms. Park kept staring at me.

  “Max, what's that all over your face?” she asked. “It looks like ink.”

  “Oh, wow,” I muttered.

  “Inkweed started to escape from you,” Nicky explained. “As soon as you closed your eyes, he started to ooze out.”

  I rubbed my cheeks. Inky wet.

  “Uh … I guess my pen leaked!” I told the librarian.

  I swallowed. My heart began to pound. Inkweed had started to make his escape. He had started to seep out of me.

  I had to stay awake. But how? I could barely keep my eyes open, even after the hard smash on the head.

  Ms. Park handed me a wad of tissues. I frantically wiped the ink off my face.

  “Come with me,” she said. “Dad said to bring you upstairs.”

  She led me up a creaky, narrow stairway. Nicky and Tara followed close behind. We entered a small low-ceilinged room crammed with books from
floor to ceiling.

  Ms. Park's father sat in a fat overstuffed armchair, a stack of books on a table at his side. He had a round red face, curly white hair, and bright blue eyes. He gave me a warm smile as I entered the room, and waved me into a folding chair across from him.

  He wore an oversized brown cardigan sweater open over a black T-shirt, and baggy khakis, torn at one knee. He had a fat yellowed book open on his lap.

  “So you're interested in folktales,” he said. He had a deep, gravelly voice.

  “Uh … well… n-no,” I stammered.

  He scratched his head of thick white hair. “I see. You're only interested in folktales about Inkweed.”

  I nodded. “Yes. Inkweed.”

  Mr. Park bit his bottom lip, studying me. “Well, he's an interesting ghost. Evil as they come.”

  “I know,” I said. “I … uh … have one important question. For my school report.”

  He leaned closer. “And the question is?”

  I took a deep breath. “If someone gets possessed by Inkweed,” I said, “how do you get rid of him?”

  “Get rid of him?” Mr. Park said. “That's impossible!”

  12

  I OPENED MY MOUTH in a loud gasp.

  I felt Inkweed move inside my head. He slid from the back to my forehead. I could feel his heavy presence behind my eyes.

  Mr. Park shut his eyes and rubbed his chin. “Let me think,” he said. “How does the story go?”

  He was silent for a long time.

  I sucked in breath after breath, trying to calm down. But how could I? I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. I wanted to scream for help.

  “Somebody, help me! I've got this inky thing inside me! Do something! Somebody—do something!”

  “Now I remember.” Mr. Park's raspy voice broke into my panicked thoughts.

  “You … r-remember?” I stammered.

  He nodded. “It's impossible to get rid of Inkweed—unless you do one thing.”

  “Yes?” I cried eagerly. “One thing?”

  “You must take Inkweed to the darkest place on the darkest night,” Mr. Park said.

  “The darkest place on the darkest night,” I whispered to myself.

  “Yes,” the old storyteller said. “If you can keep him in darkness that's darker than his darkness, you will defeat him. He will disappear.”

  I stood there gazing into Mr. Park's face, thinking hard. I kept repeating the words he'd just said. Trying to make sense of them. Trying to understand …

  Finally, I realized he was waiting for me to leave.

  “Thank you very much,” I said. “I think that will … uh … help my report a lot.” I turned and started toward the stairway.

  “Max, would you like to hear a story about a ghost named Turnip?” he called after me.

  “No thanks,” I said. “I—”

  “They call him that because you never know where or when he'll turnip!” He laughed. “Get it?”

  “Ha, ha,” I laughed weakly. “That's a good one. Thanks again, Mr. Park.” I gave him a wave and started down the stairs.

  My legs were trembling. I could still feel Inkweed in my head. I couldn't wait to get out of that library.

  Sumner Park wasn't at the front desk. I hurried away without saying goodbye.

  I ran down the weed-choked front lawn, out from under the shade of the old trees, and into the sunlight. Nicky and Tara followed me.

  Breathing hard, I turned to them. “You heard what he said,” I panted. “Now what?”

  They stared at me without answering.

  “How can we take Inkweed to the darkest place on the darkest night?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

  13

  NICKY SHRUGGED. HE SHOOK his head sadly.

  “I don't have a clue,” Tara said. “I'm sorry. It doesn't make any sense at all.”

  “I know,” I said in a whisper. “I'm clueless too.”

  Tara grabbed my shoulder. “But we'll figure it out, Max. You just have to stay awake until we figure it out.”

  I yawned. “I'm trying,” I said. “But it's hard. I'm so sleepy. …”

  “I can't keep hitting you over the head with books,” Tara said. “Your head will be as flat as a pancake! You've got to force yourself…”

  She faded out before she could finish her sentence. Nicky faded too and then vanished from sight.

  That happens to them a lot.

  Sometimes when things get really intense, they use up all their spirit energy. And they disappear for a while.

  So there I stood all alone. Thinking hard about what Mr. Park had said, I started to walk home. I was so sleepy, I walked right into a mailbox!

  I turned to make sure no one had seen me. I glanced at my watch. Four in the afternoon.

  I quickly did the math. That meant I'd been awake for thirty-three straight hours!

  We had to figure out the darkest place on the darkest night, fast. I knew I couldn't fight off sleep much longer.

  I was a block from home when I saw the Wilbur brothers standing on a corner, talking to some girls from my class. Billy and Willy Wilbur are the two worst kids at my school, Jefferson Elementary.

  They are mean. They are loud. They think they are really tough dudes. They're just plain bad news.

  I didn't want to run into them when I was only half-awake. I turned and tried to duck behind a row of bushes. But Willy Wilbur saw me and hurried to pull me over to them.

  “Hey, Brainimon, whussup?” Willy asked.

  “Whussup?” Billy repeated.

  “Not much,” I said.

  The two girls giggled. They had strange smiles on their faces. Like they knew a joke that I didn't know.

  “How's it going, Maxie?” Billy asked, also grinning.

  “Okay,” I said.

  And before I could move, Willy had sneaked up behind me, grabbed my jeans, and pulled them down to my knees.

  The Wilburs and the two girls burst out laughing. They laughed like it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen.

  Billy banged me hard on the shoulder. “The girls bet us we couldn't de-pants you,” he said. “That's a bet we had to win!”

  The four of them laughed all over again.

  I knew my face was bright red. I could feel it grow hot. These were two of the coolest girls in my class. And I was very upset. I didn't like being de-pantsed in front of them.

  I bent to pull up my jeans. And as I did, I felt something like a ball of hot steam rise up from my chest.

  Anger. A kind of red, raging anger I'd never felt before.

  I felt it explode inside me.

  I couldn't stop myself. I was no longer in control.

  I whirled around blindly. The grass, the trees, the houses, the Wilburs, and the girls—all became a red blur in my eyes.

  I started to spin … faster … faster … spinning like a tornado.

  A fierce cry burst from my throat. A furious roar, more animal than human.

  Out of control. I spun out of control, roaring like a beast.

  And then I suddenly stopped. And blinked. And saw both Wilburs in their boxers. Their jeans were tied around their necks.

  The girls stared openmouthed. I guess they couldn't believe what they'd just seen.

  I couldn't believe it either.

  And there was more to come.

  I felt it rushing up my throat like a raging river. A fountain of black ink. I opened my mouth and it came spewing out of me.

  The ink roared from my mouth and splashed over the Wilburs. I couldn't stop it. It poured over the two helpless boys, covering them in thick, gooey gunk.

  “Help! Stop it!”

  “Stop!”

  They started to gasp and choke. They couldn't breathe.

  Finally, the ink stopped spewing. I spit the last few drops onto the ground. The Wilburs were screaming and crying.

  One of the girls turned to me. “Awesome magic trick!” she said.

  But I backed away in horror.

&n
bsp; I knew it wasn't my magic. It was evil magic. It was magic from the thing living inside me.

  I had no control. No control of my own body.

  What would Inkweed do next? What would happen to me next?

  I turned toward my house and let out a scream: “Oh no!”

  14

  BUSTER!

  My huge furry dog came running across the yard toward me, snarling and snapping his teeth.

  Buster is a wolfhound. He's as big as a horse— and he hates me! Don't ask me why, because I don't know why. He just does.

  “Yaaaaiii!” I let out a cry as the monster dog leaped at me. He knocked me to the ground with his powerful front paws and snapped his teeth at me, growling and snarling.

  Buster liked to show me who was boss. Even though I didn't need to be told!

  But this time, the furry beast was in for a surprise.

  Once again, I felt the hot rage swell in my chest. It rose to my throat—and burst out of me in an ear-shattering scream of rage.

  I lost control. My front yard became a swirling red blur.

  Inkweed, with all his terrible rage, took over my body.

  Without even realizing what I was doing, I grabbed Buster by his neck and stomach. I hoisted him off the ground.

  He uttered a startled yelp.

  I raised the huge dog high over my head and held him there as if he weighed nothing!

  I let out another cry of rage—in a voice that wasn't mine, a voice I'd never heard before.

  Then I raised the dog higher, tightened my muscles, and prepared to slam him to the ground.

  The front door opened. Mom poked her head out. “Maxie?” she called. “You're playing with Buster? That's so cute! Don't move. I'm going to get the camera.”

  Mom vanished into the house.

  I felt my muscles suddenly relax. With a loud sigh, I set Buster down gently on the grass. The confused dog stared up at me for a long moment. He made soft whimpering sounds. Then he turned and hurried away.

  Dinner. Dad brought home a bucket of chicken, mashed potatoes, and cole slaw. A feast—but I didn't feel much like eating.

  When Mom and Dad weren't looking, Colin shoved a wet gob of mashed potatoes into my T-shirt pocket. I just left it there. I didn't feel like getting into anything with Colin tonight.