The Hanging Hill

118

The noble Native American ruler materialized accompanied by his daughter, Princess Nepauduckett.

She wasn’t crying anymore. In fact, she looked happy.

The towering chieftain gestured for Zack to come down and join him on the dewy patch of grass. Zack did. Meghan and the adults followed him down the porch steps.

“Do you know who I am?” the apparition asked.

“I think so.”

“You’re Sassakus!” said Mrs. McKenna, the history buff.

“I cursed this land because I knew white men to be demons. They accused my daughter of stealing corn. They executed her here on Hangman’s Hill.” When Sassakus stepped forward, his necklace of shells rattled like a skeleton’s tambourine. “But I have seen what you have done this day. Why did you take the other boy’s place?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Zack answered honestly. “It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I wanted to help.”

Sassakus nodded thoughtfully. “You are not like the others. You are not a demon. You are the demon slayer?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I just wanted to help out the good guys.” Zack turned around to point up at the moonlit theater building and wasn’t at all surprised to see that, once again, a whole host of ghostly actors and stagehands were crowded in the glowing windows on all five floors—even up in every turret and tower.

“You are special, Zack Jennings, yes?”

“He is,” said Judy, standing behind Zack, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Very special.”

“Very well.” Sassakus clapped his hands. “The ones below are banished forever. I remove my curse and forgive the evil done unto my daughter, for I do not wish that same evil to rule my soul for all eternity.”

For a second, Zack wondered if Sassakus was talking about the kind of evil done to Zack by his mother, Susan Potter. Maybe she had tried to help him. Maybe she had shown up back at the hotel to protect him from Mad Dog Murphy. It was a possibility.

So was it time for him to forgive her?

Time to move forward without constantly looking back?

Maybe. Maybe not. Hey, it took Sassakus what? Four-hundred some years. Zack might need a little more time, too.

“Come, daughter. We must move on.”

“Where to?”

“Someplace much happier. Our time here is ended.”

With that, they disappeared.

“Huzzah!” the phantom actors shouted from every window. “Huzzah!”

“Attaboy, Zachary!” shouted Mr. Willowmeier from way up in the highest tower. Zack heard two girls giggle. He figured Mr. Willowmeier was throwing another one of his famous cast parties.

“So many,” said Kimble.

“Can you see them, Mom?” Meghan asked.

“Yes, dear. How could I not?”

Wilbur Kimble shook his head in awe. “So, so many.”

“Mr. Kimble?”

“Aya?”

“Well, sir, I finally saw my dead mother today.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir. I think it’s because I really, truly believe I wasn’t the one who made her miserable or killed her. The same way you didn’t kill your sister.”

“I suppose not.”

“Hey, I just met the guy who did. He should change his name from Professor Nicodemus to Doctor Nutjob.”

“I just wish I could’ve stopped him.”

“You were ten years old!”

“Aya.”

“Plus, you didn’t have any pyrotechnical devices or an ace gunner covering your back!”

“You’re right. Nicodemus killed Clara. Not me.”

“I think Clara agrees.”

“You do, do you?”

Zack smiled. “But don’t take my word. Ask her yourself.”

Kimble turned around and saw what Zack had already seen; his sister, standing on the porch, juggling six spinning balls high above her head.

“Clara?”

“Hello, Wilbur! It’s wonderful to see you again!”

As Mr. Kimble wiped away a tear and went up the steps to join his sister, Judy came over to Zack and gestured toward the building. “So, Zack. Is your mother up there?”

Zack shook his head. “Nope. She’s standing right next to me.”

“I meant your real mother.”

“I know. Me too.”

When Zack said that, Judy kissed him, too.