The Hanging Hill

38

Meghan, Zack, and Zipper backtracked, made their way up the dimly lit maze of corridors.

Zipper barked.

“Lead the way, Zip!”

The dog took off.

“See, Zack?” said Meghan. “I told you we’d have an adventure down here!”

“We should’ve brought a flashlight!”

“What about that? That magic fairy wand or whatever. Maybe the star lights up.” She pulled the prop wand out of its bin. “There’s a switch on the handle.” She flipped it back and forth. Nothing happened. “Batteries must be dead.”

“Whack it on the bottom a couple times. It’s how I get my flashlight to work at home.”

Meghan whacked it.

The sparkling star glowed.

“Help!” Derek’s voice was weaker now.

“Hang on!” shouted Zack.

“We’re coming!” added Meghan.

They rounded a final corner and raced down a steep ramp that switched back a couple of times before it entered a storage vault at least fifty feet tall and wide.

“So, the basement has a basement!” said Meghan. “It’s probably where they store the huge set pieces. Then they use a freight elevator or something to hoist stuff up to the stage.”

“Zack!” Derek whimpered. “Tell your dog to stop licking me!”

Meghan swung her wand light to the right.

Derek was cowering on the cement floor, trying to cover up with his elbows so Zipper couldn’t slobber all over his face.

Zack stared up at the giant creature that had terrified Derek.

“Wow!”

It had to be at least twelve feet tall. A gargantuan brass statue of a man who had the head of a bull. Mr. Bull Head was seated on a throne with his hands held out in front of him, palms up, like he was waiting for someone to toss him a basketball.

“I couldn’t see where I was going and bumped into that thing!” Derek explained. “When I looked up …”

“You screamed like a baby,” said Meghan. “Don’t worry. I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Yeah. Me too,” said Zack. “This guy’s got some nasty nostrils.”

All three of them studied the colossus.

“I wonder what show they used it in,” said Meghan.

“Was there ever a Bulls?” asked Derek. “You know, like Cats?”

“I don’t think so,” said Meghan. “It’s so huge! It looks like it might be from an opera.”

Zack heard someone sobbing.

From the look on her face, he could tell that Meghan heard it, too.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked.

“Someone’s crying,” said Zack.

Derek looked at them both like they were crazy. “What? Where?”

Meghan and Zack both held a finger up to their lips, urged Derek to keep quiet.

He stayed where he was.

They crept around the brass man’s big sandaled feet. Zipper padded along after them

Whatever was behind the statue wouldn’t stop weeping.