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Authors: John Bellairs
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tense and crabby.
"Well," he said, scowling, "I suppose we might as well go see what we can see. I warn you, though: There may be nothing written on the sheet at allânothing, that is, but the message you wrote the other night."
Johnny had already prepared himself for disappointment. This was a silly, crazy thing they were doing, and he knew it. He told himself not to expect too much.
Father Higgins and Johnny entered the church by a side door. The old building smelled of wax and incense, and the air was clammy, as it always was, even in the middle of the summer. All around them the dark, empty church loomed. Half a dozen candles burned in the slanted, wax-encrusted iron rack in front of Saint Anthony. As Father Higgins walked toward the statue, Johnny could feel himself growing tense. The priest slid between the candle rack and the pedestal and placed one large, hairy hand on the front of the statue. Johnny heard him mutter something as he tilted the heavy statue back. His fingers were on the folded paper now, and he was yanking it out. Down came the statue again, gently clunking into place. Father Higgins squeezed himself out from behind the rack; he walked toward Johnny with the paper in his hand. The suspense was unbearable. Johnny clenched his fists and felt his nails digging into the palms of his hands. With maddening slowness Father Higgins unfolded the paper. He looked at it, and then he let out a loud exclamation.
"Good God! Come and look at this, would you!"
Johnny edged closer and peered over the priest's arm. Across the note that he had neatly printed was writing. It was large, scrawly, and loopy script, and it reminded Johnny of the marks he had made once when he'd tried to write while holding a pencil in his teeth. At first the writing looked like total nonsense, but Johnny soon realized that there were words and phrases. With a little effort he was able to make out what they said:
Â
Where the bays run together
A great reckoning in a little room
Â
Father Higgins's jaw sagged. "Lord!" he whispered. "I would never in my wildest dreams have believedâ" Suddenly he stopped speaking. His eyes narrowed, and he turned around and peered into the gloom.
"What's the matter, Father?" asked Johnny, frightened.
"Oh, it was just a thought that occurred to me," muttered the priest. "I wondered if maybe somebody had been hiding in the church and watching when we put this note under the statue. If they had been, they might've taken the note out and written this."
Johnny's heart sank. He knew that this might be the real, true explanation behind the mysterious writing. But he did not want to believe it. "Gee, Father," he said hopefully, "I think the church was empty that night, wasn't it? I mean, didn't we check it out?"
The priest shook his head. "No, John. That's just the troubleâwe did not check it out. There could've been somebody up in the choir loft or squatting down behind the pews. You know Raymondâthat feeble-minded guy that works at the gas station across the street? Well, he could've been in here. He ducks into the church sometimes and does funny things, like movin' the candles around on the altar. And now that I think about it, that might explain the front door bangin' open the other night. I wonder... "
Johnny was beginning to feel desperate. If Father Higgins didn't believe this was real supernatural writing, then who would help him find the professor? "I... I don't think R-Raymond could've... m-moved the statue... ." said Johnny in a voice that was beginning to tremble. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he could feel his lower lip quivering. He didn't want to break down and cry, but he was afraid he was going to.
Father Higgins turned to Johnny, and his harsh scowl softened into a sympathetic, sad smile. He really was a kind-hearted man, and he realized how much Johnny wanted to believe that the writing had been done by supernatural powers.
"Look, John," said the priest softly,
"Well," he said, scowling, "I suppose we might as well go see what we can see. I warn you, though: There may be nothing written on the sheet at allânothing, that is, but the message you wrote the other night."
Johnny had already prepared himself for disappointment. This was a silly, crazy thing they were doing, and he knew it. He told himself not to expect too much.
Father Higgins and Johnny entered the church by a side door. The old building smelled of wax and incense, and the air was clammy, as it always was, even in the middle of the summer. All around them the dark, empty church loomed. Half a dozen candles burned in the slanted, wax-encrusted iron rack in front of Saint Anthony. As Father Higgins walked toward the statue, Johnny could feel himself growing tense. The priest slid between the candle rack and the pedestal and placed one large, hairy hand on the front of the statue. Johnny heard him mutter something as he tilted the heavy statue back. His fingers were on the folded paper now, and he was yanking it out. Down came the statue again, gently clunking into place. Father Higgins squeezed himself out from behind the rack; he walked toward Johnny with the paper in his hand. The suspense was unbearable. Johnny clenched his fists and felt his nails digging into the palms of his hands. With maddening slowness Father Higgins unfolded the paper. He looked at it, and then he let out a loud exclamation.
"Good God! Come and look at this, would you!"
Johnny edged closer and peered over the priest's arm. Across the note that he had neatly printed was writing. It was large, scrawly, and loopy script, and it reminded Johnny of the marks he had made once when he'd tried to write while holding a pencil in his teeth. At first the writing looked like total nonsense, but Johnny soon realized that there were words and phrases. With a little effort he was able to make out what they said:
Â
Where the bays run together
A great reckoning in a little room
Â
Father Higgins's jaw sagged. "Lord!" he whispered. "I would never in my wildest dreams have believedâ" Suddenly he stopped speaking. His eyes narrowed, and he turned around and peered into the gloom.
"What's the matter, Father?" asked Johnny, frightened.
"Oh, it was just a thought that occurred to me," muttered the priest. "I wondered if maybe somebody had been hiding in the church and watching when we put this note under the statue. If they had been, they might've taken the note out and written this."
Johnny's heart sank. He knew that this might be the real, true explanation behind the mysterious writing. But he did not want to believe it. "Gee, Father," he said hopefully, "I think the church was empty that night, wasn't it? I mean, didn't we check it out?"
The priest shook his head. "No, John. That's just the troubleâwe did not check it out. There could've been somebody up in the choir loft or squatting down behind the pews. You know Raymondâthat feeble-minded guy that works at the gas station across the street? Well, he could've been in here. He ducks into the church sometimes and does funny things, like movin' the candles around on the altar. And now that I think about it, that might explain the front door bangin' open the other night. I wonder... "
Johnny was beginning to feel desperate. If Father Higgins didn't believe this was real supernatural writing, then who would help him find the professor? "I... I don't think R-Raymond could've... m-moved the statue... ." said Johnny in a voice that was beginning to tremble. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he could feel his lower lip quivering. He didn't want to break down and cry, but he was afraid he was going to.
Father Higgins turned to Johnny, and his harsh scowl softened into a sympathetic, sad smile. He really was a kind-hearted man, and he realized how much Johnny wanted to believe that the writing had been done by supernatural powers.
"Look, John," said the priest softly,
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