43.

Timothy blindly examined the door, searching for a handle, but there was none. He shouted, “Let us out!”, then quickly realized how silly he was being. This chamber was no illusion, and the little tricks he’d been using to beat the curse were useless now. Chanting a spell wouldn’t work so well this time.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

What would his family think when he never came home? What would they tell Ben when he finally woke up? What would happen to Zilpha on the stairs? Would Jack—Johnson Harwood—find her on his way back up? He wanted to curl into a ball and go to sleep. Dreamless sleep.

Behind him, Abigail began to emit a garbled sound from behind her gag, and that brought him back to reality. “Ack—Ahh—Ket,” she said. He followed her voice in the darkness and nearly tripped over her.

“Oh my gosh, Abigail, are you okay?” He reached out and touched her shoulder. Her arms were yanked backward and her wrists were bound around the wooden pole. “Here, I’ll untie you.” He managed to pull the gag away from her mouth, but the rope around her wrists was stringy and tight. He couldn’t even tell where to begin.

“Back pocket,” Abigail croaked.

“What have you got …?” Then he remembered. Her lighter. The one she’d stolen from her father in New Jersey.

A Light in the Darkness. Of course.

He felt a small square lump tucked snugly into Abigail’s jeans. He reached into her pocket with the index finger of his good hand and scooped the lighter up and out. It clattered to the ground. He blindly sorted through the pile of rubble, pushing the thought of old bones out of his head. He located a warm metallic object and picked it up. “I found it,” he said. “What do I do? If I light it, I’ll burn you!”

“Try,” said Abigail, her voice wavering desperately.

“Okay.” He flipped the lighter’s lid open. Positioning it under Abigail’s wrists, he said, “Pull your arms as far apart as possible.” Then he pressed the flint switch.

A yellow spark lit up the darkness, then went out. From where Timothy sat, in that brief moment, he thought he saw a tall, thin figure standing in the corner of the chamber. A lump formed in his throat. He didn’t mention the sight to Abigail. He simply tried the flint again. It was harder now since his hands were shaking. Another spark, longer this time. Another glimpse of the figure. Now it was closer, maybe fifteen feet away. Timothy was certain he could hear the shuffling of skin against the wet stone.

“Hurry,” said Abigail.

Trembling, Timothy flicked the lighter again. This time, the flame caught hold, and shadows danced all around the room. Now the figure was closer, and Timothy could see it clearly. Its dirty white hair fell across its skeletal face, past its wide shoulders. Sinewy muscle clung to its jutting bones. Ragged robes, mere black tatters, draped the creature’s torso. It seemed to wobble as it shuffled closer to the wooden column. It held its arms toward them, its long fingers tensed, as if anticipating a large meal. Is that Delia? he thought. Abigail groaned. Timothy didn’t know whether she noticed the creature or if the flame was biting her skin. Just a few seconds longer …

The creature continued forward, bringing a horrible stench with it. Finally, Timothy could see its face. Its eye sockets were empty, and its mouth was already open. In its bottom jaw glinted a single sharp black tooth.

No, Timothy now knew, that’s not Delia. I’m crouching on what’s left of Delia. Full moon’s outside. That thing is the Daughter of Chaos….

The cobweb cords snapped, and Abigail leapt to her feet. Timothy dropped the lighter. The room was again pitched into darkness. He imagined the creature slowly closing the distance. He stood up, reaching for Abigail’s arm. She hugged him tightly, then whispered, “Where’s the lighter?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It fell somewhere over here.”

Together, they bent down, sweeping the ground near the column. “Got it,” said Abigail, seconds later. Timothy heard the top flip open, then saw a spark as Abigail once again lit the flame.

“Watch out!” he cried.

The creature was directly behind Abigail, outstretched fingers nearly at her neck. He pulled her away, around the other side of the wooden column. The flame disappeared again. When he took Abigail’s hand, he felt the closed lighter in her palm. Together, they lurched toward the large iron door.

Abigail whispered, sounding frantic. “I remember being surrounded by the Nightmarys. Next thing I knew, I was tied to that column. Mr. Harwood was shining a flashlight into a darker corner of the room. Whatever bone Gramma crushed was a fake. He took the real jawbone out of his pocket, whispered something, and plugged it into that thing’s skull. I was so scared….” Her voice wavered. “I tried to do what you said, handle my fear. But it didn’t work, Timothy.”

“That’s because you were really tied there,” he answered. “It wasn’t part of the curse.”

“Then you showed up,” she continued. “I saw one of the Nightmarys come up behind you, and when you swung, your hand went right through it.”

“Right,” said Timothy. “An illusion.”

“An illusion,” Abigail echoed, as the idea seemed to sink in. From the darkness came a hushed exhalation, like a gasp through a crushed voice box. “That was not an illusion.”

The corpse was growing frustrated. Timothy and Abigail immediately turned to the cold metal slab, but without a handle to pull, they were trapped.

Timothy heard Abigail flip the lighter top open again. “Wait,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“It’ll sense us. Don’t light it yet.” They listened for a moment. The creature sounded like it was near the wooden column. “In the darkness, maybe it goes directly to the pole where we were tied. Like a habit?”

“Or what if it can see in the dark?” said Abigail. “What if it’s heading for us right now?”

Timothy pressed himself against the iron door. “I—I have an idea,” he said.

“Does it involve drop-kicking this skinny beast?” said Abigail. “Because if so, I’m totally up for it.”

“Not quite,” said Timothy. “But I’m thinking, if this corpse’s power comes from the tooth, maybe we should try to take the jawbone.”

“What do you mean … take?”

“I mean, if Harwood stuck the jawbone into its mouth and activated it, then maybe if we reach in, pull it back out, that would deactivate it?”

Abigail laughed. “You want to reach into its mouth? Are you crazy? How do we get close enough to do that?”

“Getting close won’t be the hard part.”

“And what if it doesn’t work, Timothy? What if it grabs us and … does whatever it does, before we get a chance to—?”

“I don’t know!” said Timothy. “But can you think of another option?”

Abigail was silent. A few seconds later, she said, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You’re right. If we’re trapped in here, we’re going to die either way. And I’d rather keep my soul, thank you very much. I’ll light the flame. You do the jaw snatching. Deal?”

Timothy gulped. “Deal.”

Abigail pressed the flint button, the spark burst, and the flame flickered from her fingertips. The creature crouched near the column, scratching at the wood. At the sight of the fire, it turned its head and glared at them, then stood and once more began its slow shuffle toward the door. “Go,” Abigail whispered, “now.”

Timothy pushed away from the slab, barreling toward the mummy thing, his own arms outstretched in defense. As he came closer, he groaned. It had opened its jaw wide, prepared to chomp.

Timothy shoved his hand into the thing’s mouth, gripping the bone like a door handle. But before he could yank it away, the creature bit down, hard. The pain was unlike anything Timothy had ever imagined. He tried to pull away, but the pain only increased. His fingers were now stuck inside the creature’s mouth. It clasped his neck and began to squeeze.

Timothy stared into its empty eye sockets and saw his fate, lost forever in this hell of darkness. He kicked at the creature and managed to squeak, “Get … off … me!” The creature responded by dragging his face toward its own. It squeezed Timothy’s neck harder and leaned closer.

“Abigail … help …,” he croaked.

His peripheral vision darkened. He was losing consciousness. He kicked at the creature’s skinny legs again, but the corpse was surprisingly strong, and Timothy was getting weaker by the second.

Just then, light flashed next to his head, and something crashed into him. Timothy saw the creature fly against the far wall, before fresh darkness enveloped the room again. Abigail had sideswiped the corpse. She clutched Timothy’s arm, dragging him away. When they reached the iron door, she whispered, “Are you okay?”

“What took you so long?” he said, rubbing his throat.

She punched him in the arm. Then she hugged him. When she let go, he slumped to the floor. “Come on,” she said, “stand up. It’ll be back soon, and we need another plan.”

Leaning against the door, they listened for any movement. To Timothy’s surprise, he thought he heard a noise from the other side of the metal slab.

“Hello?” Zilpha called out. “Abigail? Timothy?”