Free King of Murder by Betsy Byars

It came too close to his own situation.
    Coming up on the TV screen was the scene on Pleasure Island where the boys began to turn into donkeys. Meat had never liked this part. Even as a child, as he sat in the theater laughing with all the other kids, he had not found it funny.
    He punched the MUTE button and closed his eyes, but kept his face turned toward the TV. It wouldn’t hurt to check Pinocchio’s progress every now and then.
    He was almost asleep when he felt something lumpy resting under his head against the pillow. He tried to adjust the pillow. The lump got bigger. He lifted his head.
    A long ear! He had grown an ear just like the boys on TV. And another ear on the other side.
    He shared the horror of the mutating boys on the screen. No MUTE button could deaden the sounds of those terrible donkey screams, and he screamed right along with them.
    And now he was sitting on something bumpy. Not a tail! Please, please don’t let it be a tail.
    He eased a hand beneath him, and of course it was a tail. It was such a forceful tail that it had split his pants open and was sprouting like a stalk of corn.
    He got up at once. He had one goal, one chance to become a boy again. He had lied, and lying was just as bad an offense as those committed by the boys on the screen—smoking cigars and playing pool. He had to cross the street and retract that lie.
    His hand had become a hoof, so it was difficult to open the front door, but he was so desperate he managed.
    He tripped going down the steps—again, hoofs weren’t made for steps—and crossed the street.
    He was on all fours now, but at least that allowed him to gallop. He galloped across the street without being run over, and up the stairs to Herculeah’s house. He punched the bell with his long nose and almost at once—to his great relief—Herculeah opened the door.
    All he had to do now was say two words, “I’m sorry.”
    He threw back his head and brayed two words into her startled face.
    â€œHee-haw!”
    Meat woke up in a cold sweat. He clasped his hands to his face, actually expecting to feel the features of a donkey. They were the features of a donkey, all right—but a human one.
    He opened his eyes.
    On the screen, Pinocchio was dancing with Gepetto and Figaro, and Cleo was splashing happily along to the music in her fish bowl.
    â€œAfter you become a real boy, pal,” Meat warned Pinocchio, “your troubles are just beginning.”

23
    THE CURTAINS’ SECRET
    Herculeah stood looking up at the heavy curtains. She was breathing through her mouth now.
    Something bothered her about the curtains, but she had to struggle to think what it was. Her mind was becoming fogged.
    She squinted up at the heavy folds.
    The opening. It had something to do with the opening.
    She recalled that when she had thrust the curtains aside, she had had a moment’s difficulty in finding the opening. It was off-center.
    That was strange. Why would the opening be off-center unless ... unless there was a reason. And the reason, she thought, had to be that there was something directly behind the opening.
    She thrust the curtains aside again, but again saw only a bare paneled wall.
    Frustrated by the sight, she was suddenly filled with the strength that often came from anger and frustration. She was furious at the man who had invited her here, who had tried to get her on a sacrificial altar and then locked her in a room full of suspicious candles—so furious that she could accomplish anything.
    She would show Mathias King.
    She felt the way Hercules must have felt during his labors. Hercules probably felt like this just before he diverted whole rivers, before he made mountains. Strengthened by the thought, she lifted her hands, grabbed fistfuls of drapery, and pulled.
    With a tearing sound, the curtains came free of the rod that held them and fell. Herculeah was momentarily enveloped in the heavy cloth.
    She threw it off.