Chapter Twenty-Three

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 of The Ragtag Crew book 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.

He scampered between the main floor walls to the front of the house where he could see his puzzle table through a spy hole. No one there! He continued on towards the noise. It was coming from the direction of the writing room.

Still safely hidden, he peered through holes that looked out into the main hall across from the room where Mr Tull had died. The door to the room lay on the floor, splintered. Through the opening to the room, Henry saw a chair go flying by. Then, a body stepped into view. It was a massive man, all hair and muscle crammed into leather. It was the giant that rode the big motorcycle.

All of a sudden the intruder's true identity was clear to Henry. How could he have not seen it before?

He looked like…no, he was Momrath!

He must be defeated once and for all!

Henry went back through the passageways, up the ladder and exited the closet into his bedroom. He picked up the leather mask and zipped it onto his head. He saw himself in the mirror. The Slithe looked back at him.

While Henry would have been afraid, The Slithe was not. He could not be. He was a superhero, one who armed himself with a black leather baton and his trusty…Henry looked around for his bo staff, the weapon of choice for the warrior that he was. There, in the corner of the closet, was an old pool cue that Henry had found years ago and tucked away. That would do.

This was the moment The Slithe was born for.

He quietly made his way to the stairs. The crashing sounds had changed. They no longer came from the writing room.

Henry carefully crept down the staircase to the main floor, avoiding the creaking treads which were mapped out in his mind. When he reached the third step from the bottom, he was startled by the sound of the red velvet curtains at the entrance to the puzzle room being torn from their rod. Out stepped Momrath.

Henry stood face to face with his arch-nemesis. Henry would have been terrified. But The Slithe… The Slithe knew how to handle guys like this, whoever they were.

The monster stared at Henry. He looked surprised. The Slithe suspected he had the upper hand.

"What the fuck are you supposed to be?" the intruder demanded.

"I am your worst nightmare, Momrath. I am The Slithe."

"The what?" he said as he advanced on Henry.

The Slithe grabbed the baton from his belt and flung it at his enemy.

There was a cracking sound as the weapon shattered the bridge of Momrath's nose, followed by a scream of pain mixed with rage. Blood gushed with force from the man's nostrils.

Henry yelled in his cracking pubescent voice, "Momrath, you have been smited!" The intruder charged towards him. Henry, out of instinct, backed up and snagged the heel of his foot on a step. As he tumbled backward, the pool cue in his hand got wedged between the riser and the tread of the stair. The intruder dove towards Henry, hitting the old pool cue with so much force that it splintered and dug deep into his shoulder. Blood sprayed everywhere. Momrath's screams echoed throughout the house.

Henry ran up the stairs, then slipped into the broom closet and made his way into the secret tower room. He could still hear Momrath raging down below.

"I'm going to get you, you little fucker. And then you're going to tell me where Tull hid that computer."

From the safety of the tower, Henry saw a car coming up the drive. He recognized the fins of Lem Franklin's Coupe de Ville. It was clear that the intruder had also heard the car, for a few seconds later, the motorcycle started up and drove away.

As soon as he thought it was safe, Henry ran down the stairs.

Gramma Carol came through the front door. She flicked on the hall light and stared in horror at the smashed-up writing room and the blood sprayed up the wall. She looked down to the broken, blood-covered pool cue which lay on the floor.

"What the… Henry!" she called out.

All of the strength of The Slithe vanished. Henry launched himself at his gramma, and held on to her tightly.

"Gramma Carol, I think you need to call the police."