Thomas Creeper and the Purple Corpse by J.R. Potter

Author:J.R. Potter [Potter, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Rose Writing
Published: 2023-06-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Down the Tubes

Thomas left Cyril grinning by the windowsill. Opening his bedroom door and tiptoeing out into the hallway, he paused at the second-floor landing and keened his ears.

At first, it sounded like Thomas’s mother was going to rip the head off of whoever was on the other end of the phone.

You have no right! You’re sabotaging our livelihood!

There was a long pause, after which Thomas heard his mother say Yes! Yes! I’m still listening! After a couple uh-huhs Thomas’s mother’s voice changed. Now she spoke calm and evenly without any screaming. Martha, you sound like you caught that cough that’s going around. Okay. That’s better. I can hear you now. Another pause. Hmmm. Okay. I’ll relay that to Elijah. The conversation ended on an almost congenial note. I appreciate you . . . reaching out, Martha. It’s been a very stressful time for all of us, as you can imagine. I’ll speak to Elijah. Bye.

There was a rattle as the old phone returned to its cradle. Footsteps receded from the kitchen. Thomas heard the door to the Funeral Director’s Study open and shut. A hushed conversation commenced behind the door, though it was hard to make out the details. Hearing no echo of his father’s caustic voice, Thomas deduced that his mother was sharing some piece of positive news—news that had temporarily shut up Elijah Creeper the Fifth. Turning around, he tiptoed back into his room.

Closing the door behind him, he turned to find Cyril holding up the P.B.O.U.D. and looking rather insane. He was grinning wide with his black eyebrows pulling his scalp back.

The magical pill box was glowing. Streams of silver sparks—the same color as whatever had poured out of Korvac’s book—shimmered in the palm of Cyril’s gloved hand.

“You see, Creeper?” said Cyril, not looking up, gazing at the P.B.O.U.D. with possessed glee. “Told you they’d call. We Fixers take care of each other.”

The queasy feeling returned to the pit of Thomas’s stomach. He didn’t like being jerked around in some supernatural game of wills. How could he be sure Cyril hadn’t used Korvac’s magic book on him?

“Why are you doing this? Helping us, I mean. And where did you get that?” Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “Did you go through my stuff?”

Thomas looked past the glowing pill box to his desk drawer. A trail of silver light, like a faint after-glow, glimmered around the open drawer.

“It’s Korvac’s book,” said Cyril, sliding the P.B.O.U.D. into his other jacket pocket. “It’s incredible, Thomas. It can locate things, enchanted things. Bring them out of hiding. You can’t read anything in the book if you’re not a Fixer, though.” Cyril pulled the slender volume out of his pocket and flipped the cover around so it faced Thomas. “I mean, you can try. But it’ll just read like some silly story about a carnival. But if you’re a Fixer . . .”

Cyril’s eyes sparkled even wilder.

“. . . you get an entirely different story.”

Thomas squinted behind his glasses. Seeping out like ectoplasm from the pages of H.

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