The Ghost, the Buttons, and the Magic of Halloween (Steampunk Sorcery Book 6) by Becket

Author:Becket
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Becket
Published: 2015-10-04T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Flood of Darkness

The Darkness rumbled again. It sounded like cruel laughter. Before anyone could say another word, the Darkness began to move. It was as if an ocean of ink had parted around them, yet now was crashing down over their heads.

“Run!” Mr. Fuddlebee shouted at them.

All together they fled. Gideon peeled his wheels. Bernard carried Berkeley. Gates and Beatrice held hands. Mr. Fuddlebee floated along. And the six of them hurried as fast as they could back toward Gideon’s house.

Beatrice took her calculator out of her bookbag. She began doing the math.

“If this Darkness is falling on us at a rate of four feet a second, and if we are running at about seven feet per second, then—”

“We will not make it,” Gates interrupted, who had also done the math in her head.

“Mr. Fuddlebee,” said Bernard, “isn’t there anything we can do?”

Gideon Gizmo was beeping and whistling at the elderly ghost too.

“I’m thinking, dear boy,” he replied. “I’m thinking.”

Everyone kept fleeing as quickly as they could, yet they all watched Mr. Fuddlebee with hopeful expressions.

The three Button children, the zombie cyber girl, and the mechmage did not get far when the elderly ghost had an idea.

“Although I am not sure if it will work. It will depend on some of you.”

“Tell us what it is,” said Gates.

“Yes,” said Beatrice, “we’ll do anything you say.”

“I’m ready,” said Bernard, trying to be brave.

Gideon Gizmo beeped and whistled. Then he wheeled a little closer to Mr. Fuddlebee. He did not want to miss a word.

Everyone else did likewise, all moving a little closer to the floating ghost.

“We’re listening,” said Beatrice. “Come on. Tell us.”

Mr. Fuddlebee started to speak, but the Darkness rumbled again. It was getting closer and closer. The sound was fearsome.

“We didn’t hear you,” said Bernard.

“Tell us again,” said Beatrice.

Mr. Fuddlebee rubbed his ghostly chin. “I fear it might not work after all,” he said with a sad sigh. “I mean he is only two years old. Such a small boy could not do something so magical and wonderful. Could he? I’m just not sure.”

Beatrice stared in wonder at her little brother.

“You mean Berkeley?”

“Exactly so,” he replied. “The one with the unusual ability to make things float through the air. Tell me, has he ever moved a football before?”

“He has,” Bernard said.

“How can all that help us?” asked Beatrice.

“If our young Mr. Berkeley can make a football float,” Mr. Fuddlebee said, “then perhaps he can make a few of these branches float too. Do you see them all?”

There was less black and more light. They were starting to see the trees around them again. There were branches on the ground too, of all shapes and sizes, made of wood or stone or metal.

“What do you want Berkeley to do with all these sticks?” asked Bernard.

Mr. Fuddlebee pointed his onbrella behind them.

“I would like him to lift up all of these branches and stack them in the path behind us—the way a beaver dams a river.”

“How would that stop the Darkness?” asked Beatrice.

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