May Bird Among the Stars Read online

  “Here’s the name Longfellow,” May said, slamming her finger on a roster for a bingo event at the Phantom Nuns’ Parish, which had been held to raise money for clothes for people who died while skinny-dipping.

  Beatrice leaned forward breathlessly May read on, whipping her finger along the page. “Scorecards were handed out by Captain J. T. Morgan and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow….’”

  Bea sighed and went back to her stack of papers.

  About an hour later she folded her hands on top of the stack and looked at May solemnly “I can’t anymore. I’m tired.”

  Her bottom lip trembled just slightly Bea pulled her legs up under her skirt, wrapping her thin, pale arms around them.

  “That’s okay,” May said. “We can get up early and read more before we leave.”

  Beatrice’s eyelashes fluttered gently as she looked at May. “You were right, back in the pass. I can’t keep going like this.” She looked down at where her feet were hidden under her dress. “I’m so tired, my toenails hurt.”

  May laughed, but it was a wheezy, kind laugh.

  “All these years, and I’ve hardly thought about anything else. Maybe … I just need to let it go.”

  “Oh, no, Bea.” May reached out for her friend’s cool hand.

  “I don’t mean I want to forget her.” Beatrice gave May a quivering smile. “I just mean that … maybe some things need to be meant to be. Do you know what I mean?”

  May nodded. It made perfect sense.

  “But …,” Beatrice warbled, on the verge of tears, “do you think I can stop missing her, May? Do you think spirits can change after all?”

  “Oh, Bea.” May’s own eyes filled with tears, and she wrapped her arms around Bea, then pulled back and smiled at her. “I don’t think you need to change a thing.”

  Beatrice smiled softly, let out a long sigh, then unfolded herself from her chair and floated out the door.

  May stared after her. She longed to float down the hall and into bed too. But she turned back to Bea’s stack of papers. If Bea gave up, who would look for her mom?

  May pinched her cheeks to wake herself up and dug back into the stack.

  A long while later, as May drooped over Hocus Pocus Focus magazine, her heavy eyelids just about to collide with her lower lashes, she spotted a paragraph buried in the classified section:

  TYPHOID MARY’S CHATEAU FOR SENTIMENTAL SICKLIES

  88 MAGNOLIA LANE, HOCUS POCUS, T.E.A.

  One of several homes owned by Typhoid Mary across the Ever After, we have catered to sickly spirits since 1920. Unless you lost them to gangrene or some other mishap, you’ll love putting your feet up at this home away from life. Convenient to haunting locations. Affordable afterliving. Pick up your skull-o-phone and call now! Or send a telep-a-gram to the address above to reserve an apartment!

  At the very least, it was worth a try….

  She tucked the paper under her arm and snuck around to the telep-a-booth down the hall. The telep-a-booth looked a lot like the teleporter beside it. But while the teleporter was for transporting souls, the telep-a-booth had an envelope symbol engraved on its glass door to indicate it was just for mental mail. May slid the door open and stepped inside the telep-a-booth.

  A light appeared overhead, and she looked up to see recipient? spelled out in bright white letters.

  May swallowed, read the address in the ad again, closed her eyes, and concentrated. To Whom It May Concern, Typhoid Mary’s Chateau for Sentimental Sicklies, 88 Magnolia Lane, Hocus Focus.

  She looked up again. A shining envelope appeared, with the address across the front.

  MESSAGE? the booth asked next.

  May squeezed her eyes shut and thought again: Were looking for a specter by the name of Isabella Heathcliff Longfellow. Um…. She looked up to see that her thoughts were being recorded on a large white glowing sheet of paper. She reached out to touch it, curious, but her fingers passed right through it. She tried not to think about words like “underwear” and looked up again. The message, so far, read:

  Were looking for a specter by the name of Isabella Heathcliff Longfellow. Stop. Um. Stop. Underwear. Stop.

  “Darn,” May muttered. She didn’t know how to erase it, so she just closed her eyes and tried to go on.

  If she is there, please have her contact May Bird and Beatrice Longfellow at—she remembered something Bertha had mentioned earlier—at the Horror Huts Hotel in Hocus Focus.

  She looked up.

  Um, the end.

  Colorful lights surrounded her head as the paper folded itself and disappeared into the opening of the translucent envelope addressed to the chateau on one side and now labeled on the other with SWAK. Sealed With A Kiss. It rose out of the hole at the top of the booth and then zipped up the chute.

  May watched in awe. But a worry crept at the edge of her mind, like a mosquito whispering to her that she had made some kind of mistake she didn’t comprehend. She considered going back into the library to read some more, but she was afraid she couldn’t keep her eyes open another minute. Wearily, she floated down the hall to bed.

  A few minutes later Somber Kitty, curled up beside Pumpkin, was the only one who saw the petals on Beatrice’s necklace open, just slightly.

  Late that night a mummy happened to be sitting on the porch of Typhoid Mary’s Chateau for Sentimental Sicklies, resting his feet and drinking a slurpy soda, when a telep-a-gram arrived. The mummy watched the telep-a-gram float gently overhead, then land on the welcome mat with a flutter. Nosy, as most mummies are—even though their noses have long since fallen off—he picked it up and opened it.

  When he got to the words “May Bird,” he nearly choked on his soda. By that time, despite the Bogey’s efforts to the contrary, May’s reputation had preceded her—if not to the halls of Bo Cleevil’s fortress in the Northeast, at least throughout the halls of South Place.

  Taking the telep-a-gram with him, the mummy ambled off toward the lighthouse at top speed, in search of the Bogey

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Who’s Afraid of Hocus Pocus?

  The Colony of the Undead was in a frenzy. Maps were dragged out of hidden crevices while a group of people locked themselves up in the strategy room and started banging around inside.

  Lawless Lexy, who seemed to be Bertha’s right-hand woman, led everyone through a crash course of lock picking, Dark Spirit detection, how to put a ghoul in a headlock, and other handy tricks for the journey. The entire group of undead jogged laps every morning without exception. They ran through an obstacle course of booby traps that spanned the entire area of their underground hiding place every afternoon, and they invited May and her friends to train with them. Fabbio often took the lead on these circuits, turning it into a race that nobody else was trying to win. Every time he arrived back at the starting line first, he twirled his mustache casually and tried not to show how hard he had tried.

  Somber Kitty insisted on joining in on the martial arts lessons, though several of the undead snickered.

  “Kitty, why don’t you go curl up somewhere and relax?” Bea asked more than once. But Kitty merely looked at her coolly and executed his four-legged moves, balancing as best he could.

  Pumpkin, trying to be more like Somber Kitty, often joined in too.

  They were all given several bundles of notes on Hocus Pocus and South Place to study, curled tightly inside rubber bands. Pumpkin, who’d never used a rubber band before, shot them at every target he could think of, including Fabbio, who frowned at him irritably

  Everywhere May went, someone patted her on the back or smiled at her widely or even bowed with respect. Bertha had told everyone that she was going on secret business, but everyone assumed the business was to save them all, as The Book of the Dead had predicted. When May heard whispers about this, she ducked her head in shame. She couldn’t get up the courage to deny their beliefs. So she said nothing.

  On the day of May’s departure the undead piled in for warm hugs, and May accepted
them gratefully.

  “No time to get sentimental, people. C’mon,” Bertha said. “Now, nobody draw attention to themselves. Stay spread out on the Stubway—we’ll all have our shrouds on, but we don’t want a whole gaggle of Live Ones making themselves conspicuous. I’ll take May and her friends. We’ll all meet up at the Horror Huts Hotel. Remember, should something go wrong, we take the sewers out of town.”

  She was waving the group into the teleporter booth. One after another, five select undead, adorned in death shrouds, stepped in, plunked a tele-token into the slot, and disappeared.

  May’s pulse raced. She looked at her friends, who were putting on brave faces, except for Pumpkin, who was trembling from big head to toe.

  Amelia pushed her flight goggles up to her head and took May’s hand. “I’m so proud of you. We know you can do it.” She gave May a wink.

  May felt a lump rise in her throat. She tucked Kitty safely underneath her shroud and plunked her token in the slot.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  A Gambling Town, a Rambling Town

  HOCUS POCUS TRANSIT AUTHORITY.

  “Here we are. Everybody out.”

  They all clambered out of the teleporter booth and stood in a knot at the front of the depot. Bertha waved everyone forward as they drifted through the crumbling stone doorway.

  They followed the stairs down to a platform where several other spirits were waiting, looking at their watches, rifling through their briefcases. And then there was a sick, lopsided rumble from the dark tunnel to the right, and slowly, slowly, the Stubway emerged along the tracks.

  It was a hulking, crooked thing, its windows cracked and its metal body rusted and full of holes. It lurched toward the waiting passengers forlornly, like an old dog.

  The Stubway didn’t so much come to a halt in front of them as simply expire in an exhausted sort of way. Pumpkin clutched the back of May’s papoose, causing Somber Kitty, nestled inside, to let out a quiet groan. The travelers were jostled to and fro as they drifted into the train and spread out along the aisles.

  “Pardon me. Excuse me. So sorry,” Bea said.

  Finally, they all settled in, and the doors creaked closed.

  A voice came over a crackling loudspeaker above the handles. “Next stop, Wormhole.”

  At Wormhole a tall specter boarded and squeezed up next to May. He had clearly died in a fire, as tiny flames ran up and down his clothes. May couldn’t help but stare at him out of the corner of her eye.

  “Mind if I smoke?” he asked.

  May was about to answer politely when the train made a hard turn to the right. All of the passengers were flung against the left wall. May fell into Bertha.

  “Don’t worry. Just the wormhole.”

  The train spiraled around and around, and then it emerged into the light of dusk, and they were back outside, moving slowly across the sand.

  “What’s that?” Beatrice asked, pointing out the window to a large, glowing blob in the distance, underneath a darkened sky.

  “Hocus Pocus.”

  Bea took hold of May’s hand, her delicate fingers digging in. Otherwise, she was the picture of calm. As they all stared out the windows intently, the city and its citizens began to take shape ahead of them.

  Hocus Pocus was completely dead. That is to say, it was as lively a city as one could imagine in the Ever After. Spirits crowded the streets, ghosts promenaded across dilapidated overpasses. They crisscrossed, drifted, disappeared into this and that gambling hall or glowing green club with peppy organ music blaring out through its windows. Occasional fights tumbled out of the double doors of saloons onto the streets as hearses and horseless carriages jostled by. One spirit was jostled onto the tracks and yelled “Ouch!” as the Stubway ran over him.

  A glowing sign hung over the tracks, burning brightly and sending lights disappearing into the dark, swirling Stardust clouds above: A GAMBLING TOWN, A RAMBLING TOWN … WELCOME TO HOCUS POCUS.

  Beyond the crooked, jam-packed roofs loomed the lighthouse. It was a dark black spire, fearsome to behold—every inch of it adorned with stone faces with gaping, fang-filled mouths. At its tip an enormous black light spun in circles, sweeping the sky with its heavy black shadow.

  A ghoul crossing the street bumped into their train, grunted, and then rushed to catch up with a gang of ghouls up ahead. May bowed her head, tightening the hood of her shroud.

  “Hey, Mister, room for one more?” one gaunt, dark-suited spirit asked, trying to drift into one of the windows. The car attendant threw him out. “Go buy a ticket, you deadbeat!”

  The Stubway moved even slower now, on account of all the cars that pulled across the tracks ahead of it. Bertha muttered under her breath, something about Hocus Pocus drivers. May, Beatrice, Fabbio, and Somber Kitty had their faces pinned against the glass, mesmerized.

  More glowing signs hung off the buildings at crooked, decrepit angles, advertising various attractions:

  GHOULS, GHOULS, GHOULS! LIVE!

  POLTERGEISTS ON ICE! ONE NIGHT ONLY!

  SEE THE DREADED SILKIES MAGIC SHOW! YOU’LL BE AMAZED! ASTOUNDED! POSSIBLY ASPHYXIATED!

  “May …” Beatrice waved to catch May’s attention, then motioned to the window in front of her, where May’s breath had collected in a fog on the glass. Bea gestured that she should rub it off.

  “Oh.” May furiously shined it off with her fist. “Ahhh!” She fell backward. A gaunt lady in a long dress was looking at her through the glass and made a slicing motion across her throat.

  Bertha grabbed her up tight, looking around nervously. “Silkies,” she whispered. “Just cool your muffins.” She casually waved her dagger at the woman, who only smiled wickedly and drifted away.

  The Stubway took a hard left turn onto a new street off the main drag, slightly less crowded, and May and Bea gasped. On their right stretched the oily black waters of the Dead Sea. Several Dark Spirits were down on the beach, star bathing and socializing. Some pushed vending carts from one beach blanket to the next, peddling Putrid Pops and slurpy sodas.

  On a rise to the left, a black-clad witch peered out of a window painted with FORTUNES, EARTH-COMPATIBLE HEXES, JUST IN TIME FOR HALLOWEEN.

  “Oh, ohhhhh, can we please get a hex? What is a hex? What about a Putrid Pop?” Pumpkin was practically bouncing up and down.

  “Here we are,” Bertha said, turning a sharp-eyed look at Pumpkin, causing him to immediately shut his mouth tight. The train wheezed to a stop at the East Hocus Pocus Station.

  The travelers drifted out of the car. They gathered for a moment on the platform and looked at one another. Bertha drifted under a billboard that read IF YOU DWELLED AT COFFIN VIEW CONDOS, YOU’D BE HOME BY NOW! “No tail draggin’ now, hear? Let’s get a move on.”

  And with that, they followed her down an alley to a building shaped like a skull with a gaping mouth.

  As soon as they’d secured rooms at the hotel, May went to the front desk to inquire after the telep-a-gram she’d hoped to receive from Typhoid Mary’s, but there was nothing. Another dead end, she guessed. Upstairs, she watched Beatrice sadly. Bea was floating about the room, opening the curtains to let in the starlight and arranging the furniture to be a bit more homey. If possible, she seemed more melancholy than ever, though she wore a brave face.

  If everything went as May hoped tomorrow, she wouldn’t be around to see if Bea found her mother or not.

  “Hey, Bea, do you want to take a walk with me?” May asked. Maybe they could share a slurpy soda. Or take in a poltergeist show.

  Beatrice’s eyes lit up. “Do you think we could?”

  They both looked at Bertha, who was already busy sharpening a silver-tipped spear.

  “I wish you wouldn’t,” Bertha said, seeming flustered. “It’s a rough town.” She eyed the girls’ looks of excitement, seeming to give just a bit. “Well …” She leaned on one hip and gazed around the room. “Ohhh, I was a tadpole once. And as long as it’s just you two. You can’t take the cat, of course.
” Somber Kitty let out a discouraged meow from where he had curled up on the bed.

  Bertha cast a look at Fabbio, who was staring at the parking lot and jotting down a haiku, then at Pumpkin, who had resurrected the handkerchief and put it back over his nose. “And I’m worried about those two.” Bertha shook her head. “Just don’t talk to strangers. And hurry back, ya hear?”

  “Okay,” May said, nodding. She pulled Bea out into the hallway.

  “Strange things afoot today, girls,” the innkeeper said from behind his desk as they drifted through the foyer. “Be careful out there. The Dark Spirits are restless.”

  They wound their way through the city streets, passing several large groups of ghouls and one smattering of goblins. Each time, they went stiff and quiet but tried their best to act naturally. And neither the goblins nor the ghouls seemed to take much notice of them.

  Without having planned it, May found herself looking down each new street for Typhoid Mary’s. She considered mentioning it to Bea but thought better of it.

  And then there it was. Magnolia Lane.

  May casually steered Beatrice to the right, the two girls drifting down the quiet, cobblestoned street.

  About halfway down to the left, they came to it. The sign outside said TYPHOID MARY’S CHATEAU FOR SENTIMENTAL SICKLIES: SERVING THE TYPHOID COMMUNITY SINCE 1920. The building itself lay behind a stone archway, with a broad stone porch.

  Beatrice took May’s hand. “May, look,” Beatrice said.

  They drifted up the stairs onto the porch. A welcome mat at their feet announced FLOAT ON IN.

  “Do you think we should go in?” Bea asked.

  “We might as well,” May said innocently.

  Voices drifted down the corridor from a room at the far end of a long marble hallway just inside the front door. “Oh, maybe I’ll just wait outside,” Bea said. “I can’t take another disappointment. Maybe you should go without me. And you can just … let me know.”

  “C’mon, Bea.”

  May held her friend’s hand tighter as they drifted down the hall and up to the threshold.