Page 55 of Hoodoo House
“Sure,” Charlie replied. “I’ll be there soon.”
As he disconnected, Charlie’s stomach began to churn. Declan sounded upset, and Charlie had a feeling that whatever he wanted to talk to him about, it wasn’t the case.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Henry knew that Gramma Carol would be home eventually, and she wouldn’t go easy on him if he hadn’t finished his homework. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He stowed the leather mask and shiny baton under his bed.
Then his stomach grumbled. Well, he couldn’t do his homework with all of that noise going on down there. He’d better have a snack first.
Henry skipped his way to the staircase and decided to save time by sliding down the banister. This time he was smart enough to stop himself before he hit the newel post. That was a mistake a guy only made once on the staircase ride.
As he dismounted, the kitchen phone rang. He ran to get it. A good receptionist always answered a business phone after the second ring. Never before—that could startle the caller who was used to tardy receptionists, and never after more than three—that could anger some callers and you would just have to hang up on them and all their yelling, which was bad for business. Henry was determined to be the best receptionist Hoodoo House had ever had.
“Good evening, Hoodoo House. Henry Quill speaking. How may I direct your call?”
“Gimme the old lady who runs the place,” said a deep, gruff voice.
“I assume you are referring to Gramma Carol? I’m afraid that she is out for the evening, but she’ll be back in a few hours,” Henry said, trying to hide his annoyance at someone referring to her as the ‘old lady’.
The caller on the other end disconnected.
“Rude,” Henry said into the phone receiver before hanging up.
Henry started to head back up to his room to work on his homework when his stomach reminded him of why he had come downstairs in the first place. He went to the fridge and piled a plate high with some of his Gramma Carol’s fresh baked rolls, cold cuts which he rolled up to look fancy and a couple of peeled hard-boiled eggs.
Henry was about to make his way back to his bedroom when he realized something was missing. He needed something to drink. It took ten minutes for the new coffee to brew. Once it was done, Henry picked up a very full cup of coffee in one hand and an overloaded plate in the other then headed slowly and carefully back upstairs to his room.
It took three times as long going upstairs as it had coming down. His coffee kept trying to slop out of his mug and, on two occasions, he had to stop to retrieve the hard-boiled eggs when they escaped his plate. He tried brushing them off to no avail, so he decided to rinse them off in the bathroom sink instead.
Once everything was safely placed on the floor beside his bed, and the eggs were washed free of most of the floor fluff and grit, Henry began his homework. He gathered up the copies ofThe Ragtag Crewbook and manuscript and began to write his essay. After fifteen minutes, he decided to go back downstairs and get a refill on his coffee. A mind must be kept sharp if it was to be creative!
Coffee acquired, he got back to work and examined his progress. Three paragraphs done! He finished three more paragraphs before taking another break to get some cookies and a top-up on his coffee. No wonder adults drank it. It made everything so sharp and exhilarating. His heart was racing with excitement.
Henry started having difficulty focusing.
What would The Slithe do if he had a really boring essay to write?
Henry took the leather mask and baton back out from under the bed. He put on the mask and stared hard at the words he’d written in his notebook. Nothing. Maybe if he practised more of his martial arts moves, it might get the blood flowing to his brain and great thoughts would come to him.
After a few minutes of kicking and spinning, he collapsed on the bed, exhausted. He slipped the mask off his head and lay there in silence. Then he heard something. What was that buzzing sound? It seemed to be coming from outside and it was getting louder…like a giant fly.
Henry needed to go and take a look.
He padded down the hallway and opened the broom closet, then pushed open the secret door to the tower and climbed the steps to the lookout. The sun was setting and it was difficult to make out anything. Difficult, but not impossible. In the distance, he saw a single light and it was coming Henry’s way. It was a motorcycle and Henry recognized it. It was the loud bike, the one that the big, hairy guy rode—the guy who one time had threatened to hurt Henry if he’d ever caught him touching his bike.
The bike came up the drive, then out of view and around the side of the house.
Henry had to act, and fast.
He ran down the wobbly tower stairs so quickly he thought they might break free from the walls. He had to find out what the man was going to do. He had a bad feeling about this.
Henry made his way through the back of the broom closet and edged open the door. He thought the coast was clear. Then he heard breaking glass.
Henry knew he should hide, but his coffee-fuelled brain told him he had to see what was happening. After all, he was the only one here, which made him responsible for the house, his and Gramma Carol’s home.
He ran to his room and headed towards his closet. Like the broom closet, it had a secret panel at the back. It led into the passages—the ones that ran through the thick walls of the house, walls that had spy holes in them. Henry had laughed when people said they felt like they were being watched when they were in the house. They were—by him.
He made his way through the narrow space between the walls and down the crude wooden ladder to the first floor. From his hiding space at the back of the house he looked through a knothole in the wood and into the kitchen. The outer kitchen door had been broken open and Henry could hear smashing sounds coming from somewhere else in the house.
