Free The Beast Under the Wizard's Bridge by Brad Strickland

have been old Creepy Clabbernong’s secret magical workshop.”
    â€œWhat did it look like?” asked Lewis.
    Rose Rita made a face. “Like the inside of a burial vault. The walls were brick and the floor was dirt. One wall had a shelf built into it, and the box was on that.”
    â€œDid you see any magical stuff?” asked Lewis. “Like black candles and swords and such?”
    Rose Rita shook her head. She hugged herself, as if the memory still tormented her. “All I saw was just the little room under the ground.”
    â€œThen,” said Lewis, “I think it was just a storm cellar.” Tornadoes weren’t common in Capharnaum County, but every so often one hit. Most of the farmers in the area had dug out storm cellars where their families could ride out a really bad twister. “You know,” continued Lewis, “I’ll bet you that old Jebediah didn’t trust his grandnephew. Mrs. Zimmermann told us that Elihu burned all his granduncle’s papers. But I’ll bet that he didn’t even know about that journal, or about where Jebediah hid it. It could be that Jebediah didn’t—what was it that hewrote? Didn’t bend and twist Elihu to his will, after all.”
    Rose Rita grimaced. “If that was so, I’d think Elihu would have done a better job of getting rid of Jebediah and all his works.”
    â€œHe tried his best,” Lewis pointed out. “He built that bridge. And he put meteor stuff in the iron. He—”
    Rose Rita gave him a sharp glance. “What’s the matter? You look like a goose just walked over your grave.”
    Lewis forced himself to speak. His voice sounded odd and strangled even to himself: “Rose Rita,” he whispered. “What if something came to Earth inside that meteorite? What if the meteorite was kind of like an egg?”
    Rose Rita stared at him. “What if one of the Great Old Ones hatched out of it, you mean?”
    Lewis murmured, “The journal said that some of them went to outer space. What if one of them came
back
? And what if the meteorite was made of the only stuff in the universe that could contain it?”
    Slowly, Rose Rita said, “Then that might be why Elihu melted the meteorite into the iron. He wasn’t trying to keep the ghost of his uncle from getting him at all. He was trying to keep something else from crossing the creek.”
    â€œAnd now,” faltered Lewis, “it will be able to cross anytime it wants to!”
    *  *  *
    Miles away, Uncle Jonathan and Mrs. Zimmermann stood on the hill overlooking Wilder Creek and its newbridge. The workmen below were busily preparing to remove one of the old iron bridge pilings. A crane towered high in the air, with a steel cable attached to the head of the piling. Everyone had retreated. A workman hooked some wires to a plunger and then signaled. The foreman waved his arm, and the workman pushed the handle of the plunger down. It set off dynamite under the water. A fountain of bright white spray shot up, and a moment later the sharp explosion sounded. The piling swayed.
    The creek boiled with scummy yellow bubbles. Even at this distance, Jonathan and Mrs. Zimmermann could hear cries of disgust from the workmen. A moment later the breeze brought a sickening stench to their nostrils too.
    â€œFlorence,” Uncle Jonathan whispered, “I’m very, very worried.”
    Mrs. Zimmermann put her hand on his arm. She did not say anything. But she shook her head slowly, as if she were just as concerned as her friend.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    When Lewis returned to 100 High Street, he found that Uncle Jonathan was back home too. His uncle said nothing about finding the wooden box with its mysterious journal. Rose Rita came over for dinner, and she kept a sharp eye on Mrs. Zimmermann. Neither of the two adults gave the least clue that they had found the journal.
    Later, Rose Rita and Lewis had a hasty,