The Hanging Hill

52

Zack crept backward down the porch steps, careful not to trip on his loose shoelaces.

The jolly man and his bubbly-but-dead girlfriends drifted forward and Zack remembered what Mrs. McKenna had said during lunch: Justus Willowmeier III “was seldom seen without a cigar in his mouth and a pretty woman on each arm.”

Zipper came running over to join Zack in a circular patch of grass at the front of the building. Dark clouds raced across the starry sky, blotting out a moon that was almost full.

“Enjoying your stay, Zack?” Mr. Willowmeier asked from his perch up on the porch. The two showgirls batted their spidery eyelashes and smiled at him with plump, painted lips. Zack figured their lipstick must have been ruby red, but in this light it looked jet-black.

“Having fun in my house, lad?” Willowmeier hooked his thumbs into his vest. Bounced up on his heels. Waited again for a reply.

Zack nodded. Oh, yeah. He was having a blast.

“Attaboy. We were all quite delighted to hear you had finally arrived!”

“You’re our hero!” one of the girls cooed.

“Um, I think you have the wrong guy.”

“Nonsense. We have heard all about your courageous exploits, how you dealt with that nasty fellow at the crossroads. Sent him packing, eh?”

“Well, yeah … but…”

“Zachary,” said Mr. Willowmeier. “I have a proposition to make. I would like to cast you in a leading role, here at my theater!”

“Why me?”

“You’re special!”

“So’s Meghan. She sees ghosts, too.”

Mr. Willowmeier frowned for a second. “We know.” Then he smiled and his face became a jolly pumpkin head again. “But, well, Miss McKenna’s quite busy. The show must go on and all that. However, it may not go on at all if you do not do what needs to be done.”

“Personally, we can’t do much,” squealed the other showgirl. “Except go to parties. Parties are fun.”

“Thank you, Tina,” Mr. Willowmeier said patiently. “Zack, here then is my predicament. My careless grandfather erected his tavern on top of what had previously been Hangman’s Hill. Never a very bright idea, eh? But, let’s be fair. He negotiated a marvelous deal on the land.”

“It was dirt cheap,” said the showgirl on his left. “On account of it being cursed by that Indian chief and all.”

“Did the chief have a daughter?” Zack asked.

“Indeed,” said Willowmeier. “Princess Nepauduckett. She was the first to climb up the Hanging Hill scaffold to the gallows. Back in 1639, I believe. Gross miscarriage of justice. Accused of crimes she did not commit. Corn thievery, which, I gather, was considered a capital offense in those days.”

“She’s still here,” said Zack.

“We know. For years, we have lived here with her and … the others. Maintaining a fragile equilibrium. Now, however, some rather greedy mortals have arrived. They mean to upset that delicate balance and evict us from our home. That is why we are all so thrilled you’re here, Demon Slayer!”

“Huzzah!” shouted a chorus of voices from somewhere up above.

Zack dared to look.

In the glowing windows of the second floor, he saw a whole gallery of ghosts. A chorus line of showgirls wearing colorful headdresses; two men in baggy striped pants, holding cream pies; a rotund woman in a Viking helmet, clutching a spear; a stagehand in a hat and suspenders, lighting sparklers and tossing them up to Juggler Girl, who stood balanced on one toe atop the tip of an ornate lightning rod, twirling the glittering fireworks in a dizzying circle above her head.

“Wow!” said Zack. “How many of you are there?”

“Quite a few!” said Mr. Willowmeier, rumbling up another belly laugh. “Anyone who ever traipsed across the boards or worked here behind the scenes, anyone who found their joy in the limelight, their happiness in the roar of the crowd, all are welcome to return!”

“Be not afraid of greatness, lad!” The swashbuckling Shakespearean actor Zack and Meghan had seen in the basement pounced to the ground in front of Zack, sheathed his sword, and propped his fists heroically against his hips. “Remember: ‘Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em’”

“Zack,” said Mr. Willowmeir, “allow me to introduce Bartholomew Buckingham. One of the finest thespians it was ever my pleasure to know!”

“What say you, Zachary?” Buckingham asked, his vowels round and rich. He cocked up a single eyebrow. “Will you assist us?”

“Me? What can I do?”

“Much. For you are the demon slayer, are you not?”

“Right,” mumbled Zack. “I’m special.”

“Huzzah!” shouted Buckingham.

“Huzzah!” echoed all the others.

Zack wasn’t sure, but he might’ve just said yes without even knowing he had said it.

“Oh, Zack?” said Mr. Willowmeier in a stage whisper.

“Yes, sir?”

“Not a word of this to Judy, Derek, or Meghan, eh?”

“How come?”

“I’m afraid they may soon need the protection of a demon slayer even more than we do!”