Author's Note: Can you believe this story is at twenty five chapters? This is just getting so crazy – and long. And the end is definitely not in sight. Woot. I swear, this story is quickly becoming my little baby. I can't see it being finished anytime soon – there's just always so much more that I can put into it and explore. And I still have to actually address the murder. But, like they say in Labyrinth, things are not as they seem. And this story (and, for that point, this chapter) is not what it seems. And I just want to (a thousand times) thank all the people that are still with me on this journey. It is so great to get comments from all of you. Whenever I feel overwhelmed under the weight and intricacy of this monster, all I need to do is go back and read the reviews. Thank you! (PS, I hate dialogue...)

Random moment: my birthday is in two days. Woot. Just thought I'd share ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original newsboy characters – they are the property of Disney. The main characters Stress and Diana (among others) belong to me. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner.

Translations: a Maldição de Diabo translates to "a devil's curse" in the romance language of Portuguese.

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a Maldição de Diabo

October 1, 2006

A devil's curse. An unsolved murder. 4 generations.
At the brink of his own destruction, he traded his life for 100 years to find out what exactly happened that night.
If that wasn't strange enough, what exactly he will find out during his quest is.

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PART TWENTY FIVE

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Did it work? Diana raised her hands to her eyes and rubbed them quickly. When she removed them away, she could see that she was no longer standing beside her bed in her aunt's guestroom. However, as her eyes roved over the place she found herself in, she could see that she was standing within a room inside of a building. Alright, she thought to herself, I'm in the past. Now I just have to find out where I am. And find my victims – er, I mean Jack, Rhiannon and whatever Kloppman Jack was referring to in my other vision.

Diana dusted the nonexistent dirt off of her faded blue jeans – she seemed to always imagine that falling into a vision made her dusty – before taking the time to explore the room further.

Looking around, Diana saw that it was a boarding house or orphanage of some sort. It was a rather large room, filled with quite a few bunk beds lining the wall opposite of her. She paid no attention to them at first, instead continuing to look about the (thankfully) empty floor. She looked to her right and could see, at the end of the room, what she believed to be a large water pump complete with a basin.

She turned to her left and began to walk in that direction, passing all of the bunks. At the other end of the room, just past an open passageway, there was a counter area, complete with various sized (dirty) mirrors; the counters were cluttered with mugs, razors and other sorts of boy-type items. At least, that's what it looked like to her – sometimes it was hard to tell the difference when one was looking at an early 20th century existence from a late 20th century perspective.

She could make out, just before the counter area, a row of doors. She turned around and took a step closer, intent on seeing what was hidden behind the wooden structures but stopped a few feet away. The intense and terrible aroma seeping out from between the wooden slats of the door told Diana just what she would find behind – and it was not something that she cared to view. Yup, she thought, her nose wrinkling up as she stepped out of this portion of the room, this place has definitely got to belong to a bunch of guys. Girls don't smell up a bathroom like that.

Diana shook her head and entered back into the main part of the room. Something was nagging at the back of her mind; for some reason, that something kept intoning that, yes, it was a boys' bunkroom and, no, she should not be there. Kloppman would be displeased. She ignored the little voice that kept repeating that she should just leave and began to explore the bunks. Her curiosity trumped her intuition.

Well, that was not entirely true. Once that little voice seemed to understand that Diana was not going to leave the bunkroom just yet, it seemed to steer her into another direction. While she was once again standing in the middle of the room, facing all of the bunks, her feet began to walk of her own accord. Before she knew it, Diana found herself facing one of the top bunks on the left.

The girl was surprised that she had not noticed it before. While most, but not – to give some of these boys credit— of the bunks were left unmade, a variety of sheets and thin blankets left crumpled atop the cots, this bed , she saw as she stepped up on her tip-toes, was impeccably made, with a small pillow lying at the far end.

I don't think anyone has slept in this bed in… well, forever, Diana thought as her hand reached out for the pillow. It was handmade, she could see, in the shape of a heart. It was mainly white, though she could see that much of the cloth had gone yellow with age. It was decorated with a lacey trim and, in the direct center of the pillow, there were two letters ornately embroidered in faded red thread: F.S.

It looked so soft but, just as her hand made it to the pillow, Diana found that she could not pick it up. As she had been in previous visions, she was the ghost. Invisible and intangible. Great I didn't want to touch that crusty old pillow anyways.

She sighed and lowered herself down so that she was flat on her feet. She crossed her arms over her chest and made another face. "Alright. I wanted to see Jack or Rhiannon or that Kloppman person, not spend the rest of my existence in an empty bunkroom. So, where the hell are they?" she asked herself. She had no idea how to return from a vision (it did not occur to her just to think of him) and she had not yet met either person she had come to search for.

Just then, almost as she was speaking out loud to herself, she heard a pair of heavy shoes clomping on a nearby staircase. She was not so much frightened as anxious as she waited to see if that person was heading to her floor. Diana hoped so – maybe it was one of the three people she was looking for. She knew that she, being ghost-like (as weird as it was for her to think of herself like that), could not be seen by whoever was approaching.

Diana did not have long to wait to find out who was making such a loud noise. The sound stopped a few seconds before an elderly man peeked into the room. The man, whose grey hair stuck out from underneath a tan bowler hat, peered into the bunkroom through wire-rimmed glasses. He looked around before fully entering the room.

Holy crap, that must be Kloppman – he looks just like Aunt Ria's butler, Diana thought as she got a glimpse of the old man. The only difference between this man and the man she knew was the style of dress; this man wore a faded grey shirt with arm bands under a dark vest.

This Kloppman was looking around suspiciously and, for a moment, Diana thought that his eyes might have caught her. In any instance, he was definitely focused on the bunk that she was standing beside. He made a noise, almost a derisive snort. "I must be going mad. I could have sworn I heard someone up here," he said to himself, shrugging, before walking over to the bunk.

Diana jumped out of the way just in time for the man to pass by her and not through her. She watched as he patted the made bunk almost lovingly. There was a thin covering of dust that floated upward as his hand pressed against the sheet. The man coughed, waving the dust away from his face.

Once he was breathing again, he reached for the pillow. He puffed it once, straightening out the ruffle of the lace, before placing it back down at the head of the bed. "It's such a pity about that odd legend," the old man said as he continued to speak to himself. "I find it so difficult to understand that, even now, that none of the boys will stay in this bed since Cowboy…" He did not finish his sentence. Kloppman shook his head. "Oh well. It's been too long and each generation of boys live to follow the examples set by their predecessors. Besides, we've never been short of bunks since. None of the boys want to stay in a cursed lodging house and most have not. It's such a pity," he repeated, almost sadly.

Diana listened to the man and the brief nagging that bothered her when she first arrived seemed satiated. I knew this whole set up seemed familiar. This man must be Mr. Kloppman's grandfather's father – the man who ran the lodging house before and after Jack's death and went on to work for Rhiannon Daite. He told me this story when I first got to New York. He said that the kids thought this place was haunted after Jack died and stopped living here. I guess none of them wanted to sleep in his bed neither, she thought, thinking of the empty bed. She was not sure, exactly, what year she had fallen into – it was obviously some time after Jack had died but not before Rhiannon got married and bought the building on Duane Street – but she was anxious to learn more. This Kloppman, whether he knew it or not, was giving her a lot of information just by talking out loud to himself.

"Kloppman? Hey, Kloppman? You up there?"

The old man started as a strong male voice called up the steps. He had been so lost in his own thoughts it spooked him to have someone intrude on them. He took a few seconds to compose himself before answering the voice. "Yes, I'm in the bunkroom. You want I should come down?"

"No," answered the voice. "I'll come up."

There was another round of someone running up the steps before another man entered into the bunkroom. He was tall and thin but not gangly. He had regular brown hair, dark brown eyes, and an infectious smile. He opened his arms wide when he spied the old man. "Kloppy," he said before walking over to him.

The old man walked into his big embrace, patting him on the back in return. "Les. How have you been, son?"

Les? Diana's ears perked up. Could this be Les Jacobs, Rhiannon's husband – my great-grandfather? She peered at him but, apart from noting that he was a handsome man in his late twenties, she could not see any resemblance. Both her great-grandmother and great-grandfather had died long before she had been born and she had never cared enough to see if there were any photographs of them. In fact, that was one of the reasons she got a B on her family tree project during sophomore year – she had no pictures, just names, dates, birthplaces and occupations. Could this be just another coincidence?

"I've been doing well. The business is picking up, so I got no complaints," the man, Les, replied as he broke apart from Kloppman. "How are you? You ain't dead yet, are you?"

The old man laughed; it sounded false to Diana's ears. "If only, Les."

Les gave the old man a knowing smile. "I know."

A tense moment, awkward for all three of the people in the room – especially for Diana because she had no idea why such simple words could be so tense – followed but was broken up when Les pointed to the made bunk. "Cowboy's bunk still made?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Would you sleep in a bunk that belonged to a boy who killed himself?"

Killed… himself? Diana was confused. She had never actually thought about Jack's death before; he was a ghost, therefore dead, and that was all she needed to know about it. Kloppman – her Kloppman – had mentioned something about the boy in his story, the boy she would quickly come to learn was Jack Kelly, voluntarily giving up his life. She had not put the pieces together yet; she had not thought of Jack's death as a suicide. Oh, Jack, when I see you again, am I going to have questions for you…

Les thought about Kloppman's question for a moment. "No, I guess not...," he agreed as he reached past Kloppman and picked up the pillow from the bunk, "But it has been sixteen years, you know."

"Sixteen years to the day tomorrow."

Les nodded. Then he grinned and lifted the pillow up for Kloppman to see. "You still have this thing here?"

Diana could tell that Les was trying, in a way, to change the subject. Kloppman could, as well. He smiled gratefully as he followed along. "Your sister told me to leave that there for as long as this place serves as a lodging house. She told me she'd set David on me if I refused."

Les laughed. "Oh my. Let's all fear David Jacobs," he said jokingly, unwittingly confirming his identity for Diana's sake.

"And that was all those years ago. She still checks to see that it's there, you know. But now she threatens me with that husband of hers."

Les could not help but laugh a second time. "Well, Spot is a bit more intimidating than Dave," he admitted.

"Yes…" Kloppman replied before growing serious. "But what about you, boy? To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

It was Les's turn to get serious. "I just wanted to check on you, old man. It gets kind of… well, gloomy around this time of year. First Stress, then Cowboy. The memories, you know."

"Yes, I know," Kloppman agreed before shaking his head. "But don't worry about that. I'll be fine. In fact, I – uh, have to finish getting these beds made. I really don't have much time to chat today. You can back tomorrow if you'd like…?" he asked, offering in such a way that told Les that it was a polite gesture and nothing more.

The man must have been used to such treatment because he did not try to argue. "Alright, Kloppy. I'll check in with you sometime soon. Take care of yourself, alright?"

"Of course, kid. You too."

Les smiled at Kloppman, hesitating a bit as if he had something else he wanted to say. But he did not say another word. Instead he carefully put the pillow back down – for all Sarah's threats that she would sic David or Spot on the old man, he knew that his sister could be scarier than either of the men; her first pregnancy made her that way – and waved his way out of the bunkroom.

The old man waited until he heard the echoes of Les's footsteps before whirling about in a way that Diana would never think a man his obvious age was capable of doing. "Cowboy. I want you to appear right this instance."

Cowboy? Diana turned around to stare into the space where Kloppman was watching.

There was that now familiar pop and Jack Kelly, just as Diana knew him to look, appeared right before their eyes. He was hovering high in the air, sitting cross-legged, as he rolled his eyes at Kloppman. "How did you know I was here, Kloppy?"

The old man looked disdainfully up at the ghost boy. "Jack, after sixteen years of dealing with you, I've learned to tell when you're around – it starts to smell strange, you know."

Jack pretended to be offended while Diana grew confused. If Jack has been dead sixteen years and this Kloppman says that he's dealt with him for sixteen years, what the hell does that mean? She shook her head. She knew the whole Kloppman angle to this was different than it seemed to be but that was not the important matter at hand just then. What was important was that the purpose behind this particular jaunt into the past was to learn about the connection between Jack, Rhiannon and Kloppman. Right now she had two of the three in her company. Alright, she thought, a bit more confident in her abilities to control her visions – she was beginning to think that she had gotten herself lost in the past, it might just be taking some time but I will get some answers… I think.

Kloppman was still speaking. "What do you want, Cowboy?"

Jack did not answer. Instead, still hovering high in the air, he floated around so that he was upside-down, his head pointing downward, his folded legs at Kloppman's eye level. He was currently sticking his tongue out at Kloppman. Diana giggled. The sight was humorous though she never would admit that to Jack; she only allowed herself to laugh because he could not hear her. If he had been able to, she would have just rolled her eyes at his childish antics.

Kloppman was not amused. "Turn back around and stand on the ground, Jack. I need to talk to you," he ordered.

The old man seemed so authoritative – I guess you have to be to run a boys' lodging house – that Jack listened at once. As soon as he was upright, he floated down gently, landing his boot-clad feet onto the floor. "What's the matter, Kloppy?"

"Listen. I know you get really uppity and antsy around the anniversary of your death," he began and paused when Jack made a face, "and rightfully so," Kloppman added, "but I'm going to need you to not hide out tomorrow. You're going to have to hang out by the lodging house with me."

"And why's that?" he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Diana was not surprised to see that Jack was acting like a child. She laughed to herself again. He still acted that way.

Kloppman sighed. "I – I found something out. Come tomorrow, tomorrow exactly, you're going to meet someone. A girl, and you'll know her right away, is going to help you. She'll be able to see you, hear you, help you try to learn the truth. She'll be able to come and go. She won't be tied to this damn building like I am."

The boy, understandably, looked quite taken aback. Diana, herself, was trying to make sense of what the old man had said – and it wasn't working at all. How the hell does this Kloppman know about this, she wondered. Maybe I'll actually get an answer to my question…

"Hey, Kloppy," Jack said finally, mirroring Diana's confusion. "How do you know about this?"

Kloppman looked embarrassed for a moment. "You won't believe me."

Diana glared at the old man; it did not matter if he could see her or not – she was frustrated! "I don't care if he won't believe you. I probably won't believe you. But you can't leave me hanging," she said. But, as she knew, neither even acted like they heard her. She stomped her foot; it did not make a sound. She kind of wished that, like when she came across the Jacobs' siblings, she was visible. Maybe then she could get Kloppman to speak up.

Jack snorted. He obviously was thinking along similar lines as Diana. "Are you kidding me, Kloppy? I'm a ghost. I've been haunting a lodging house for sixteen years and, apart from watching all my friends – friends, mind you, who have no clue that I'm basically spying on them – get married and move on with their lives, I am not one step closer to finding out how she died. You're telling me that I'm gonna finally get help, I'm gonna finally get to talk to someone besides you… Excuse me if I'm little curious to learn how you know this."

"Alright, I get your point, Cowboy. And I'm sorry that I'm such poor company and all—"

"You know I didn't mean that. But don't think I'm dumb enough to notice you're changing the subject."

Kloppman laughed. "You got me. Alright, I'll tell you. I know about this girl, your helper, because—"

And that's when Diana, without even meaning to or without any knowledge of how it was happening, felt disconnected. Her stomach lurched forward and she felt her feet become separated from the wooden floor. Her eyes were closed and, with all the strength she could, she tried to pry them back open. She only lifted one lid a fraction of the way; she could see Kloppman and Jack, still conversing below her, as she was ripped out of the past.

The next thing she knew there was a flash and then nothingness…

"Miss Mason. Wake up, child. Your mother is here."

Kloppman?