Author's Note: Chapter 15, finally. Ahh, summer. How I hate it. Well, I love the 'no-school-no-homework' aspect, but I hate summer in general. Oh well. And something happened in the family that has left me completely devastated and broken...let's not get into that right now. fake cheery smile Maybe in writing I can get rid of that feeling. Well, anyway...here we are. Read.
I stood and crept over to where Brand was sitting, holding the box and the cigarette butts. For my own confirmation I picked one up and sniffed it. It still smelled of smoke, which, in retrospect, was odd, because nowhere in the cavern had we smelled cigarette smoke before. Even here I couldn't smell it.
"I bet its those hooligans," Data exclaimed, pronouncing it as 'hoo-LEE-gans.'
Brand stood up. "I wouldn't be surprised. I'm going to go further up. There has to be another entrance to this cavern somewhere. And it can't be too far. Anyone else coming?"
Surprisingly, none of the boys offered.
Andy stood. "I'll come. Luna?"
I swayed unsteadily. I wanted to come, terribly. I wanted to see what else was down here. And where the tunnel lead. But it was too soon after the attack for me to feel comfortable. And I couldn't just leave the boys down here by themselves. Not like there was anything I could do if an attacker came, I was pretty much helpless. I wasn't skilled with any weapons or trained in Ye Olde Honorable Arte of Combat. However, it made me feel better to be down here. Part of me almost felt important, like a chaperone.
Some chaperone I would be. People are always telling stories of how in the midst of battle, people 'find their bravery' and 'sacrifice themselves' for their friends. Call me selfish, but I couldn't do that. I'm too protective of my own life, I came too close to losing it.
Oh well.
I watched in dismay as Brand and Andy made their way up the passageway and into the darkness. The light from their lantern faded, but the chamber that I was in was still lit. I saw that Chunk was sitting on the highest 'bleacher,' holding a second lantern.
I looked at him. His eyes were large and the irises reflected the light of the lantern so they almost seemed to glow. It was almost as if he was asleep himself.
I contorted my back in all directions, looking for Mouth. Chunk, almost as if he was able to read my mind, raised the lantern so its light was more spread out throughout the chamber. It illuminated the figure of Mouth, slumped against the wall with a black piece of cloth encircling his head.
Velvet.
Oh my god! That bastard, whoever it was, had used more of my clothing as a bandage.
"Brand did it," Data piped up, seeing that I had spotted the telltale fabric.
"You cast away your backpack," Mikey said tonelessly.
"Did I?"
He nodded. "Right before you pushed us."
"I...what?"
"Yeah, you pushed me, Brand, and Chunk up against the wall."
"You ripped my shirt, turd," Chunk added.
I was glad I was not facing them at this point, because my mouth spread into a smile. His shirt was hideous.
Then, "What the hell? Children?"
It was a man's voice, but at the same time there was something high-pitched, almost feminine about it. One way or another, I didn't know who it was. But for some reason I wasn't afraid, merely startled. Partly because it wasn't the voice of Grover, or the guy in the top hat. Chunk, however, reacted differently and dropped the lantern. I heard the scrabbling of Data's and Mikey's feet as they hurried up the stone steps to Chunk. The clang of the dropped lantern awoke Mouth, whose eyes flew open and his hand flew to his head. "How much did I have to drink?" he asked jokingly.
The lantern's light had decreased dramatically, but that didn't hide a long, spindly hand that crept into it and pointed straight at Chunk, Data, and Mikey, who were all huddled together. "It wash you who opened the shinkhole, washn't it?" His voice possessed an odd lisp-like quality.
"He did it!" said Chunk frantically, pointing to Data. "He did it all, please don't eat me, don't chop me up into tiny pieces and put me in a soup, I'm much too young, I'm not even a teenager yet..."
High-pitched laughter echoed throughout the chamber and a figure stepped into the vicinity of the lantern. He was a young man of fairly small stature. He wore a raggedy button-up and jeans, and had a beard and a pronounced, dirty-blonde mustache. His head was bald, but by the looks of his face was no more than about twenty-five. He was holding a long, spindly hand in his...hand?
"Wh...what is that?" asked Mouth, his hand shaking as he pointed towards the hand.
"Oh, thish?" the man held up the hand stroked it lovingly. "Eh, it'sh jusht a little shomthin' I found in the deeper caverns one day. Shneaked it off Old Haneshhead while he was sleeping. Not like he'll ever wake up to find it missing!" He gave another burst of the strange, high-pitched laughter.
'Not like he'll ever wake up to find it missing'? Does that mean he's dead? Did this man kill someone?
Data bounded down the stone steps and skidded to a halt in front of the man, peering at his treasure. "Data!" Mikey called warningly, but Data paid him no attention.
"Guys!" Data said unsteadily. "This is a skeleton hand..." He ran back to the his cluster and clung to Mikey.
"Of coursh it'sh a shkeleton hand!" the man said, shaking his head. "I wouldn't take no hand from a living shoul! I took thish one and polished it up good, made it nice and shiny, and added shum tree bark for fingernailsh. Convinshing, ishn't it?" He pronounced 'nice' as 'na-eesh.' He continued, seeing our shocked faces. "Oh, don't go thinking I killed shum one, I am no murderer. There are heapsh of dead'unsh down in the playsh I call the dungeon. They got all kindsh of shtuff down there, so one day, I shez to meshelf, 'I'm gonna go down there.' Sho I took shum food to lasht me a few daysh, and a hammer and chisel, and carved meshelf a ladder out of the shtone. Because it'sh a pretty long way to fall, but no way to get back up. The wall ish flat!" He slapped the wall of the chamber for effect. "They all fell down there yearsh ago, ech-plorersh--" I think he was trying to say explorers-- "they called themshelves, and shtarved. Poor men. But now they're gone, and they left their worldly belongingsh behind. Sho I take what I need, and nothing more."
"For what purpose could you possibly need a skeleton hand for?" asked Mouth dryly.
"Humour purposhez," the man replied. "She, when you're like me, you need entertainment. Your kind amuzes yourshelves with fanshey video gamesh and televijin and shuch, but I can't do that. Sho I amuze myshelf with dishcarded partsh of dead people."
A grin tugged at the corners of my lips.
"What do you mean, 'like you,'" Chunk asked.
"I," the man started, "am what your kind callsh a hobo. A hermit. A primitive cave-dweller. But I tell you what, we HERMITSH would be the only onesh left to repopulate the earth, if there'sh a big regresh of shoshiety or whatnot, becuz we're the only onesh who know how to SHERVIVE!"
"And to survive you play with skeleton hands," Mouth said flatly.
The hermit nodded. "Yesh. In fact, nicked thish one off of Old Haneshhead and..."
"You already told us this story," Mouth pointed out, rather rudely.
The hermit glared at Mouth and pointed the skeletal hand at him. "Now you shtop interrupting me, boy. You got shum nerve." He lowered the hand and continued. "Anyway, nicked it off of Old Haneshhead, I did. She, I name the dead'uns if they don't have no identification of shortsh. I called thish one Haneshhead becuz when he croaked, he wash wearing Hanesh underwear...sho I put 'em on hish head!" He started laughing again, then said, between chuckles, "Sho I call thish little beauty..." he indicated the hand, "HANESHHAND!" And erupted into laughter that was twice as loud as before.
I scooted closer to the group of boys, as did Mouth. He picked up the lantern, which was still lying on the stone, and set it in an upright position.
The hermit stopped laughing as suddenly as he had started. "Norman."
"What?" Mikey asked, confused.
"Norman. That'sh my name. Norman. I live in the cave that haz a pashage that eventually leadsh down here. Lately, though, there have been shum other people shneeking about. One of em'sh real tall, and wearsh a funny hat. Looks like a right gentleman, he duz. The underling ish rather shtupid, actually. Keepsh bothering my cat. Themsh alwaysh shneeking down in my cavernsh to shmoke their goddamn shiggaretesh." Norman shuddered. "Shtinkin' up my cave, they are."
"Grover and Abe," I said quietly. I turned to face the Goonies. "They are here to look for Daniel Bradford! I knew it!"
"Hey, hey, woah, hey!" Norman said loudly. "That'sh jusht a legend, lady. Nobody knowsh if his tomb is really down here or not."
"He is," Mikey argued, in a whisper for dramatic effect. "I know he is."