The Curse on Spectacle Key, page 15
This time, a kitchen drawer shot open, and a rusty knife floated out of it before clattering to the floor.
“Sorry! Won’t make fun, I promise!” I shouted. My knees knocked together in fear. Snuffles was angry and impatient.
“If that doll’s head starts spinning again, I’m going to faint,” Alice said weakly.
Snuffles seemed to be dragging Bernard to the pantry. A jangling sound caught my attention as the little key around Bernard’s neck scraped the tile floor.
Wait, the key! I thought. But it couldn’t be that simple, could it?
I dashed into the pantry and grabbed Bernard, who was sticky with drool. Alice soon joined me. With a quick tug, I tore the skeleton key off Bernard’s neck.
“You think it will work?” I asked Alice.
“We have to try,” she responded.
SNIFF, went Snuffles.
“Snuffles agrees,” I said, hoping I was right.
The key turned easily in the lock. I took hold of the glass doorknob, gave it a twist, and . . .
Whoosh!
The door opened, releasing a gust of stale air.
I took a giant whiff, and you know what it smelled like?
Like mold. Like paper, breaking down over time.
It was a heavenly, familiar smell.
Beside me, Alice murmured in wonder at the sight of what had been hidden behind the door. “Oh, Frank. It’s a—”
“A library!” I rejoiced.
Chapter 23
Memories
It wasn’t a large library. Not much bigger than my bedroom, really. But there were bookcases all around, two dusty leather chairs in one corner, and an actual library ladder to reach the top shelves! Mary Shelley jumped onto one of the chairs, a cloud of dust forming around her. She’d taken Bernard back, and now held the doll tightly under her massive paws. All this time, Snuffles hadn’t been trying to scare us by moving Bernard—they’d been showing us the key we needed!
Running in excitement to the nearest shelf, I touched a book, which was spongy from the damp. “Everything’s ruined,” I sighed in disappointment.
Alice spun slowly in the center of the room. “I remember sitting just here,” she said, pointing at the floor. “While somebody, a grown-up, sat there, reading a story.” She indicated one of the chairs. I wondered what the kids who lived at the IFH had read, and whether stories helped them forget their troubles.
SNIFF, went Snuffles.
“Sounds like Snuff’s glad we found this place,” I commented, feeling a little relieved. Even though Snuffles was terrifying at times, it felt like I was beginning to understand them a bit. Maybe it was the same way I could figure out how Mary Shelley was feeling through barks and growls.
“I agree. What did you want us to find, Snuffles?” Alice asked.
At once, Snuffles began to sniffle all over the library, the sound settling finally over a large wooden box on one of the lower shelves.
“Check this out,” I said, pulling the box onto the floor. Alice and I sat before it. The whole time Snuffles made lots of noise. “Okay, okay, hold your horses.”
“Or hold your noses, in Snuffles’s case,” Alice added.
SNIFF, went Snuffles, as if telling us to stop wasting time.
I lifted the lid on the box. Inside were yellow files. The first had the name of a girl on the outside—Molly Shirley—written in fading blue ink. I opened it and found a picture, warped from the moisture in the room, of a girl posing for a portrait while sitting on a wooden chair. The other papers in her file included her birth certificate, her health records, and more photographs.
“Do you remember her?” I asked Alice, who shook her head sadly.
“Frank, maybe there’s a file here about me,” she said. We looked through them all, even finding a file on Georgia the Nose Picker. Snuffles was quiet the whole time. Finally, only the last file remained in the box.
“This has to be it,” I said. Trembling, I drew the final folder out and turned it over. There, written in blue ink, was a name: Alice Gale.
Alice gasped beside me, reaching out to touch her name with her fingertips. “Open it,” she whispered.
So I did. Inside, looking back at us, was a torn picture of Alice, smiling and holding the hand of a dark-haired woman. They were both wearing straw hats tied under their chins with a broad ribbon, and both wore the same happy smile. A portion of the photograph was missing to Alice’s left, but the people in the picture remained.
“Momma!” Alice gushed, lifting the picture and crushing it against her lips in a kiss. “Oh, Momma!” She cried and cried, looking through the papers that told her all about herself—how Alice had been born in a small Florida town called Immokalee in December of 1921, and how her mother and father had been tomato farmers. Her father died when Alice was a baby, and by the time she was ten years old, her mother could no longer afford to keep her safe and sound, so Alice was given up to the Island Foundling Home. It had been a hard life for Alice and her parents, but in the picture I could tell how much her mother had wanted her, and I imagined it must have been terrible to say goodbye.
Alice read everything in silence. Finally, turning over the last piece of paper, Alice looked up at me with shining eyes. “I remember almost everything,” she said, exhaling loudly.
“Almost?” I asked.
Alice nodded. “Some of the memories are blurry. Parts are missing. But even so. I remember Momma.”
“Is that a good thing?” I wondered. Maybe she was better off not remembering the sad story of her life. Maybe it was better if all Alice knew was Spectacle Key, Mary Shelley, and me. As soon as I asked it, I realized it had been a selfish question. I’d hate not knowing about myself.
Alice nodded. “It’s a wonderful thing. But it’s not easy realizing that everyone I ever knew is long dead. Or that those terrible caretakers at the IFH forgot I existed and left me alone here during a hurricane.” Alice’s nose was running, and she was sniffing right along with Snuffles. The room must have been very dusty because my eyes were stinging and my nose was running, too, though I’m not sure Alice believed me when I muttered, “Dust.”
Then, as if she’d just realized something, Alice clutched my hand and turned to face me. “Frank! You know my story now. I’m no longer the lost child of Spectacle Key, which means—”
“That the curse on Spectacle Key is now lifted!” I said. I punched the air above my head and went “Woo-hoo!” a few times. Alice twirled around me. It was finally going to be okay.
SNIFF!
Snuffles, I realized, the joy I’d been feeling evaporating at once. We’d been focusing so much on Alice that I hadn’t stopped to wonder what had happened to Snuffles, who must have suffered along with Alice.
“Were you left behind during the storm?” I asked Snuffles. A cool breeze swept the back of my neck, like an icy finger. I clamped my hand on the skin there and stifled a terrified shout.
Alice sucked her teeth as if she’d just bitten into something freezing cold. She took a deep breath before asking, “I wasn’t the only child left to bear a terrible fate during the hurricane, was I?”
“It’s worse than that,” I said. “The caretakers didn’t even remember that they forgot Snuffles.”
Papers fluttered lightly around us and a breeze tickled our hair. It was sweet-smelling, like being breathed on by somebody who’d just had a lollipop.
The box of files! I thought. Alice must have had the same idea, because we rummaged through them again, naming all the children we could find.
“Georgia Finkel!”
“Molly Shirley!”
“Rogelio Acosta, is that you, Snuffles?”
“Lester Goranovsky, maybe?”
On and on we went, reading the names, and each time, Snuffles only sniffed sadly. When we got to the bottom of the box, Snuffles started to wail, at first right into our ears so that we screamed and slapped our hands over them, and then off they went, crying into the distance, far, far away.
“They really forgot all about them,” I said.
Alice nodded sadly. “Snuffles is the completely lost child of Spectacle Key.” She sat down among the files on the floor of the library. Drops of sweat gathered at her temples. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen Alice sweat, though it had been super hot the whole time I’d been on Spectacle Key. She was getting more real and solid by the minute. In fact, it seemed that the more I learned about Alice, the less like a ghost she seemed. Maybe Alice and Mama Z were right all along. Maybe Alice had never been a ghost.
Alice began to gather some of the files into her lap. “We should take these to Manny at the library. The Spectacle Key books might be destroyed, but the fate of the Island Foundling Home is a history worth remembering, don’t you think?”
“Alice!” I shouted, then gave her a huge hug. “I figured it out! Manny said that when a story gets forgotten, a part of the world goes with it, remember?”
Alice nodded.
“So you aren’t a ghost, Alice Gale. You’re a . . . a . . . a memory! And the longer you were forgotten, the further you faded away!”
Alice got to her feet, clutching files to her chest. “But then you and your family moved to Spectacle Key, and you came to the IFH building and somehow brought me back!”
The building groaned around us, as if it were living and remembering. “And this place,” I whispered. “What happened here has been covered up for so long that the whole island got cursed.”
Alice shivered all over, despite the sweat. “That sounds about right.”
Suddenly the heavy, damp books all around us slipped off their shelves. A dictionary thumped me on the head, while a pop-up book on castles fell wetly all over Alice. “Snuffles, stop!” I yelled, but that only made things worse, and the books began to fall more forcefully.
“We still don’t know Snuffles’s name,” Alice said. A dictionary fell at her feet, and she yelped, jumping backward. “Momma always said that when someone is hurt they often make bad choices, and Snuffles has been hurt terribly.”
The tiles underneath our feet began to buckle and snap; shards of porcelain tile went zipping in the air and lodged themselves into the walls. “Snuffles!” I shouted. “We figured out Alice’s story. We’ll figure yours out, too!”
But I didn’t think Snuffles was listening to us anymore. We could hear them crying as they sent more and more items flying. Alice grabbed the box of files and we ran out of the secret room. Mary Shelley panted beside me. Behind us, Snuffles destroyed the library, and I turned around to see one of the chairs floating in the air, then smashing to the floor and breaking in pieces.
“Snuffles, no,” I whispered, the obliterated library breaking my heart.
We ran until we were clear of the ruin. There was nothing left to learn in that place. We’d discovered all we could about Alice, and as far as we could tell, the caretakers hadn’t kept a single record about Snuffles.
“This is impossible,” I said at last, leaning over and gripping my knees. “We’ll never figure out Snuffles’s real name, or who they were. We’ll never be able to remember them. We need to know the whole story of Spectacle Key if we’re going to lift the curse.”
“And bring the memory of Snuffles back,” Alice added.
“Plus, it’s the only way I’m going to get to stay here.” We were both quiet after that. I didn’t want to think of moving again, or of leaving Alice and Pop-Pop behind. It made my throat feel all tight. “Dust,” I said, and wiped my eyes, but Alice was staring at the IFH building.
“What’s the worst Snuffles can do?” she asked. In the distance, a boom sounded from deep within the ruin. A giant flamboyán tree beside what was left of the IFH creaked and shook, started to lean, and finally crashed into the roof, its giant roots exposed in the air like great brown tentacles.
Alice gritted her teeth. “Well, that answers that.”
Alice, Mary Shelley, and I observed the destruction for a few minutes. The walls trembled and it was as if we could feel Snuffles’s anger in the vibrations beneath our feet.
Alice had removed her mother’s picture from her file and tucked it into her apron pocket. “I think I know a bit about how Snuffles feels. But me? I feel fluttery. Happy, warm flutters. I think it’s peace that I feel inside,” she said after a while. “Like I’m myself again. Connie was a good name, but Alice is better. I was very good at jump rope. Now I remember. Even better than Georgia Finkel. And I won the spelling bee at IFH the year I was there. And I know how to grow a tomato so that it’s the juiciest thing you ever ate. I didn’t remember myself until now, and it feels, it feels—” She stopped to think for a bit. “Oh, Frank, it feels like everything is beautiful and right with me again.”
In the distance, a part of IFH’s roof crumbled like a stale cookie. The crash was so loud that Alice and I covered our ears. Dust formed like a cloud over the IFH before settling down again. I broke out into an instant sweat, and I noticed that Alice was biting the corner of her lip and trying not to cry.
She pulled herself together pretty quickly. “We need to give that peace back to Snuffles. That’s why I returned to Spectacle Key. I just know it.”
I looked at Alice with new eyes. She was determined, her mouth set in a firm line. Her eyes sparkled, and even her freckles looked brighter against her skin. Moment by moment, she looked less like a ghost and more like a regular girl. She made me feel courageous.
“You’re right. We can do this,” I said.
The noises from the ruin settled down at last. I wondered what Snuffles was feeling. They were probably furious that we’d figured out Alice’s story while their’s remained a mystery. Then again, Snuffles had led us to the library. Snuffles was helpful, in their own way. But Snuff’s pain was like having a cut that kept bleeding, no matter how many bandages you put on it.
Still, there was no doubt that Snuffles was scary. If they could topple a building like the IFH, I shuddered to think of what could happen to the lighthouse. And what if everyone I loved was in it while Snuffles threw another tantrum? Would Snuffles destroy Spectacle Key in the end? What if I became a lost child, too? Pop-Pop wouldn’t be around forever, and he was all the family we had left. Who would remember me then?
Chapter 24
Ms. Shiverton’s Secret
Snuffles followed us all the way back to the lighthouse, ripping through bushes and kicking up plumes of sand. When Snuffles yanked Alice’s braids, she shouted, “You’re being especially naughty. Stop it at once!” and Snuffles calmed down at last.
“That was very brave,” I whispered, impressed. My legs felt like spaghetti.
Alice shook her head the tiniest bit and adjusted her braids. “I’m scared, too, Frank.”
That made me feel a little better. “Papi always says that bravery is the ability to face scary things, even though you’re still scared,” I told her.
“That’s us, then. At least, I hope we can be that,” Alice said.
“I hope so, too.”
Once at the lighthouse, we found nearly everything already in boxes. I climbed over them to get to the kitchen, with Alice and Mary Shelley trailing behind me.
“I’m going to try to talk my parents out of moving off the island,” I told Alice. “Snuffles still needs us.” I didn’t want to leave Snuff and Alice alone on Spectacle Key. They’d already been abandoned once, after all. “Mom, Papi,” I called, jumping over a box labeled PAPI’S TOOLS—NO TOCAR! When I reached the kitchen, to my astonishment I saw my parents sitting at the table with Ms. Shiverton.
“Hello, young man,” she said.
“Uh, hello,” I responded. My mom was sitting up very straight and her hands were on her lap. I could see them gripping her knees through the glass tabletop. Papi was resting his chin on one hand. Spread out on the table was a lot of paperwork.
Ms. Shiverton smiled tightly at me. She wore a button with her face on it that read, A FLIPPY FOR EMILY! “I’m sorry you won’t get to be classmates with my Lucas in the fall. He’s a top student, and an excellent example to others.”
“I won’t?” I asked. It’s not like I was desperate to be Lucas’s pal after everything that had happened, but I had been looking forward to attending middle school in the Keys.
“Sorry, mister,” Mom said.
“It’s for the best,” Papi added.
I looked at the paperwork Ms. Shiverton and my parents were in the midst of signing. I saw a seller’s and buyer’s contract, and the address for the lighthouse listed on every page.
“You’re selling the lighthouse? To HER?” I demanded.
“¡Oye!” Papi shouted.
“Manners, mister!” Mami bellowed.
I turned around and saw Alice hiding behind boxes in the living room, chewing on her fingernails. Mary Shelley waited with her. I shook my head in her direction, and Alice covered her face with her hands.
Ms. Shiverton smiled haughtily. “I will become caretaker of the lighthouse at last. It makes sense, as my family has lived in the Keys for many generations. You can be assured that I’ll be a responsible owner.” Something in her voice seemed to suggest that we had been anything but responsible. Mom’s cheeks flushed pink and Papi’s nostrils flared.
“Okay, but will you love it? Like we do? Even if this place is a total pain?” I asked.
Ms. Shiverton observed me for a moment, then said, “Love has nothing to do with it.”
“What about the ruin on the other side of the key?” I demanded.
“Demolishing it the first chance I get,” she said.
Poor Snuffles, I thought. How would everyone remember what had happened there once it was gone for good?
The doorbell rang. I remembered the ding-dong-ditcher when we’d first moved in. It must have been Snuffles then. Riiiing went the doorbell again, more insistently this time. What if Snuffles was back? Were we in danger?
Papi rose to open the door, and I followed him. Mary Shelley was barking up a storm, up on her hind legs and pawing at the locks.
“How can I help you?” Papi asked as he pushed the door open.
There stood Mama Z in a business suit, her red hair pulled back in a bun and a leather briefcase in her hand.
