The Monsters of Morley Manor Read Free Page B

was like turning on a blender. Water splashed all over the place.
    When we were finally done shampooing and toweling Mr. Perkins (I helped with the toweling, because he couldn’t bite me through the thick cloth), I noticed that some water had splashed onto Albert’s hand. When I said something about it, Sarah wanted to know where the little monster had come from. I ended up showing her the whole set, which she thought was pretty cool.
    Two more strange things happened that night. The first came after supper, when we were cleaning up the kitchen. Gramma had been reading the newspaper and had left it on the table. Sarah glanced at it, then grabbed my arm.
    â€œAnthony!” she hissed. “
That’s him!”
    â€œWho’s him?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œHim,” she said, pointing to the paper. “That’s the old man who showed me the box you bought today!”
    I picked up the paper and felt a cold chill shiver down my spine. The paper was a few days old, and the article was about the sale to be held at Morley Manor—the sale we had gone to that day. And the picture? It was labeled, “Martin Morley, recently deceased owner of Morley Manor.”
    â€œYou’re crazy,” I said. “He’s dead.”
    â€œHe may be dead,” replied Sarah, “but I swear I saw him.’’
    She looked really nervous.
    I didn’t believe her. I didn’t
want
to believe her.
    But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
    As if that wasn’t enough, something even stranger happened when I was getting ready to go to bed. I hadn’t thought any more about Albert’s hand getting wet, until I decided to take a last look at the monsters before I went to sleep.
    Then I saw that his hand had changed color, the brass tones transformed to a dark, fleshy shade.
    I got mad, because I figured the water had damaged whatever Albert was made of. But when I touched his hand I drew my finger back, my anger quickly shifting to fear.
    The little monster’s hand was no longer hard and metallic. Now it felt warm—warm and . . . fleshy.
    I picked up the figurine and stared at it.
    To my horror, its fingers began to move.

3
Just Add Water
    I SLAPPED A LBERT back into the box, closed the lid, and latched it. Then I put the box in the bottom drawer of my desk, closed the drawer, and locked that, too.
    But I didn’t leave it there.
    I couldn’t.
    Which isn’t to say I didn’t try. But I couldn’t sleep, thinking about that tiny hand, stretching and grasping. It was horrifying—but not as horrifying as the idea that a living creature was locked, frozen, in my desk. A creature I could revive just by adding water. If Mr. Perkins hadn’t splashed him, if I hadn’t seen that hand move, I would never have known, and it wouldn’t have made any difference. But I did know, and because I did know it seemed to me that I had to do something about it. The thought of keeping some tiny person frozen (or statued, or whatever) was too awful to live with.
    Unfortunately, the idea of bringing him completely to life was pretty awful as well. After all, it was possible he had been frozen for a reason. What kind of monster was he, anyway?
    Well, a small one, to begin with. It wasn’t as if he could tear me limb from limb or anything.
    After fussing like this for an hour or so, I got out of bed, slipped into my robe, and went to my desk.
    I took out the box and opened it.
    Albert’s fist was still moving, clenching and un-clenching, a bit of living flesh stuck on a lifeless metallic figurine. I took a deep breath, then whispered, “All right, buddy, let’s thaw you out.”
    I tucked Albert into the pocket of my robe, then stepped into the hall. It was dark and quiet. I hoped Mr. Perkins was asleep and not just hiding somewhere, getting ready to jump on my head and pee on me again.
    About halfway down the hall, I