46.
The flashlights finally bobbed at the base of the stairs, a hundred yards away. The police were running toward them.
“Are you folks all right?” An officer blocked their path, shining her flashlight at them.
Zilpha swiftly stepped in front of the piles of bones. “We are now,” she answered.
Zilpha held Abigail’s hand and spoke with the officers. Standing several feet back, Timothy glanced down at what was left of the two bodies.
In the creature’s skull, something small glimmered much brighter than before. He bent down to get a closer look. Deep inside the jawbone’s single sharp black tooth, a golden light flickered. Remembering the myths of the chaos cult, he imagined that this new glow was the soul of Mr. Harwood. The bone had been charged, its power rejuvenated. If the scary things Timothy had experienced this past week had been the time-weakened results of the corpse’s long-ago last meal, a fresh soul might make the jawbone infinitely more dangerous. Reaching out with his one barely able hand, Timothy poked the jawbone, almost expecting the skull to clamp its mouth shut. But the life had gone out of the monster. He figured it would spark only if the corpse was returned to the crypt, and he was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen.
Quickly, Timothy plucked the jawbone from the creature. It came away easily. Zilpha would probably still want to destroy it. He shoved it into his jacket pocket for her. Then, staring at the gray remains buried under the nearby overcoat, Timothy had an idea.
After nearly fifteen minutes of questions, the police finally led Zilpha, Abigail, and Timothy back up the long flight of stairs.
When it came to their story, Timothy and Abigail had followed Zilpha’s lead. She had explained to the police that Mr. Harwood had kidnapped her granddaughter and held her in the vault underneath the lighthouse. She mentioned that they might find another body down there.
“Did you see which direction this Mr. Harwood ran?” asked one officer.
“No,” Zilpha answered, “he simply disappeared.”
The police examined the bones scattered across the gravel path. Timothy knew it would only be a matter of time before they discovered Harwood’s wallet or car keys or something to identify him. Then the mystery would begin for them.
As for Timothy, Abigail, and Zilpha, they finally had their answers.
At the top of the stairs, Timothy found his father pacing. When he noticed Timothy, he raced forward and lifted his son into his arms. He squeezed Timothy so hard that for a second, Timothy couldn’t breathe.
His father told him that when he’d gotten home from Saturday-evening services at the church, he’d found the front window smashed by the planter, the garage door completely destroyed, and his wife’s car stolen. He’d immediately called the police, worried that Timothy might be in trouble. The police had already received reports of a boy driving a car west across the bridge.
“What about the rest of the house?” Timothy asked, trying to change the subject.
“What do you mean?” said his dad. “The rest of the house is fine … isn’t it?”
“Oh … yeah,” said Timothy. “I was just wondering.” He’d known the jawbone’s curse had created the dragon, but until now, he hadn’t known where the line between fantasy and reality had been drawn. When it came to the curse, the trick lay in telling the difference between the two. The dragon had been imaginary; Timothy driving the car through the garage door, however, had been very real. The Nightmarys at Harwood’s house had been imaginary; the incomplete corpse below the lighthouse had been genuine. But in the moment, Timothy had been helpless to stop his imagination from taking control. He racked his brain, trying to think of what he could tell his father about why he’d taken the car. But before he had a chance to think, his father gasped.
“Your hand is swollen!”
“Yeah. It kinda hurts.”
“Can you move it?”
Timothy shook his head.
“We’ve got to get you to the emergency room,” said Mr. July, glancing around for an officer. “What happened down there?”
“Um … That’s hard to explain.”