The Unwritten Girl by Bow James

Author:Bow, James [Bow, James]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: JUV044000
Publisher: Dundurn
Published: 2006-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

MIRROR, MIRROR

“She will.”

— Marjorie Campbell

The man leapt off the mantelpiece and pulled off his mask. He pointed at Peter and cackled. “Got you!” He was a small man with a round, red face like a cherub, but his eyes were as dark as holes.

Keeping her eye on the little man, Rosemary climbed down while Puck helped Peter to his feet. “You run this place?” Rosemary asked.

The man tapped his fingers together and gave her a little bow. “Actually, Miss Watson, I am filling in for the proprietor. You remember old Professor Herman?”

The light dawned. “Yes! Professor Herman!”

“Huh?” said Peter.

“This old guy who rigged the house to move around and make noises to scare everybody away,” said Rosemary. “But two kids weren’t scared off; they made friends with him and got him back into the real world.”

“They just left the house behind at the end of the story,” said the man. “They didn’t tell you whether they shut it down or not, so it’s still here, and I’m able to make use of it.”

“Why?” demanded Peter, still brushing himself off. “Why did you try to scare us like that?”

“So, I did scare you?” said the little man eagerly.

“Yes!”

The man clapped and bounced on the balls of his feet. “Oh, good, good, good! I do so love a job well done!”

“This is your job?” said Rosemary.

“My life, actually,” said the man. “I’m sorry, haven’t I introduced myself? I am the Fearmonger, and fear is my life.”

“The Fearmonger?” echoed Rosemary.

“I—I’ve never read about a Fearmonger,” said Peter.

“I am not a character,” the Fearmonger bubbled, “but I am in most works of fiction.” He threw his arms wide. “I am the shadow in the corner! I am the ghost that lurks in dark alcoves! I am the twitching doorknob on an unlocked door. Fear is my service to the Land of Fiction.”

“Some service,” snapped Peter, “scaring people out of their wits!” He turned and was suddenly face to face with a living, breathing gargoyle. Its stone tongue lolled.

“Yah!” said the gargoyle.

Peter stumbled back, tripped, and fell to the floor.

The Fearmonger tossed the mask aside. “Got you again!”

Rosemary eyed the Fearmonger and his cheeky grin. “You’re enjoying this!”

“And so are you,” said the Fearmonger. “Look at yourself, Miss Watson: your heart is still beating at twenty percent over its normal rate after your trip through the corridor and your skin is delightfully flushed. How do you feel? Alert, I’ll wager. Excited? Invigorated?”

Despite herself, Rosemary grinned. “Yeah, it was kind of fun.”

“Well, I’m not having fun,” muttered Peter from the floor. Rosemary gave him a guilty glance.

“I am glad I could be of service,” said the Fearmonger. “It is my duty, after all, to test your mettle. Only if you pass me will you be worthy to save your brother, Theo.”

Peter stood up. Rosemary stared at the Fearmonger, wide-eyed.

“Yes, I have followed your every step, Miss Watson,” the Fearmonger continued. “I must say, I am impressed with your performance so far. I had never realized what a brave young person you were.

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