Once Upon a Midnight Eerie: Book #2 (Misadventures of Edgar/Allan) Read Free Page B

as the best-named food ever, in any language: po’ boys!
    “There should be an ‘Edgar’ and an ‘Allan’ variety,” Edgar observed.
    “Yeah, and they’d look and taste exactly alike!” said Allan.
    “Bay shrimp, sauerkraut, blue cheese, and jalapeños!”
    And when they stopped at the New Orleans Pirate Museum, they were reminded of their friend David Litke. He loved pirates and would have been impressed by the life-size wax figures of the notorious brothers Jean and Pierre Lafitte, who had gained pardons from the United States president for helping to defeat the British navy in the early 1800s.
    Pirates turned heroes—
that
didn’t happen very often.

    “Maybe we should become pirates,” Edgar whispered to his brother as they lingered over a glass display case of crossed swords and authentic pirate flags.
    “Good idea,” Allan said. “Except . . . our days are already pretty full being archaeologists, cryptologists, linguists, detectives, and cultural critics.”
    They drifted toward a display case containing three gold coins, authentic Spanish doubloons. Above the case was a sign that read:
    THE LAFITTE BROTHERS’ HIDDEN TREASURE HAS NEVER BEEN FOUND
    “Let’s go, everyone—time to move on!” called the tour guide.
    For Edgar and Allan, the highlight of the tour came when the bus stopped outside the walled, centuries-old Saint Louis Cemetery, which boasted no grassy, parklike setting but instead consisted of row upon row of tightly packed, ornate, aboveground crypts. Crumbling stone angels and gargoyles watched over this chilling city of the dead.
    “Let’s all stay together as we walk through the cemetery,” the guide announced as the group disembarked from the bus and started toward the ornate iron gates of the necropolis. “We wouldn’t want to lose any of you to local ghosts!”
    Most of the group laughed, but Uncle Jack and Aunt Judith exchanged a look of anxiety.
    They didn’t even like spooky movies.
    So real cemeteries? Forget it.
    With Roderick safely tucked inside Edgar’s backpack, the twins moved with the group up one avenue of macabre mausoleums and down another.

    “Because of the damp conditions of the ground here in New Orleans, as well as the traditional burial practices of city founders, our cemeteries generally consist of these aboveground vaults,” the guide explained.
    “Creepy,” murmured Aunt Judith, drifting nervously toward Uncle Jack.
    Uncle Jack jumped, startled, when she unexpectedly brushed against him. “Yeah, creepy,” he agreed, taking her hand.
    Edgar and Allan walked behind them, smiling.
    They loved the place.
    And then they saw something that made them love it even more.
    In the oldest section of the cemetery, many of the names and dates cut into the stone mausoleums had been worn away by two centuries of wind, rain, and sun. Generally, these markers were evenly worn. But Edgar and Allan noticed one crypt that was different. It featured a marker upon which some letters had been worn away in the ordinary fashion, while the remaining letters showed no wear
at all
.
    This was the sort of thing most people didn’t notice.
    But Allan and Edgar had a gift for recognizing patterns where others saw only randomness. (Two connected brains were not merely twice as efficient as one, but many times more efficient.) They’d learned from license plates, fortune cookies, misprinted books and magazines, and countless other sources that the world was full of hidden messages for those willing to fully engage their perceptiveness and imagination.
    They studied the two markers.

    A missing “G” in Genevieve, “H” in here, “O” in our, “S” in “sister,” and “T” in “rest.”
    G-H-O-S-T . . .
    Then a missing “T” in “with,” “O” and “U” in “our” and “R” in “lord.”
    The twins examined the inscription for Genevieve’s husband, Clarence, noting the order of missing letters on his marker.
    Put together with those of his