The Curse of the Blue Figurine by John Bellairs Page A

different. It was a rustling noise, a strange ghostly whispering. As Johnny listened the noise died away, and the house was silent again. Eyes wide with wonder and fear, Johnny turned toward the stairs and slowly began to climb.
    Johnny did not get much sleep that night. He kept waking up and glancing anxiously around, straining to hear strange sounds. The next morning he stood at his bureau in his rumpled pajamas. The face that stared back at him from the bureau mirror was red-eyed and woozy. On the clean white runner lay the ring Mr. Beard had given him. Johnny picked the ring up and turned it over in his hands. After the dreams he had had and the sounds he had heard in the night, he was beginning to wonder about the little game that Mr. Beard wanted him to play. Mr. Beard was a nice man—that was certainly true—and he was only trying to help Johnny. But what if the figurine really was magic? What if Eddie's broken arm hadn't been just a coincidence? Johnny fussed and fumed and thought some more, and as he thought he slipped the ring on his finger.
    He looked at himself in the mirror and blinked. Things were suddenly clearer. How silly all his doubts and fears were! He ought to go ahead with the "magic" game. If he played the game, it would make him feel stronger and braver, and then he would be stronger and braver, just like Mr. Beard had said.
    Johnny went to the closet and opened the door. He knelt down and took the blankets and magazines and sweat shirts off the black book. He opened the lid and took the figurine out. Holding it in his hands, he said the "prayer" that he had made up:
    Thoth attend me! Toueris be my avenger! Let those who oppose me beware, for I will make them rue the day when they raised their hands against me! By the name of Amon-Ra I swear it!
    Johnny paused. If he was expecting magical fireworks, he was disappointed. The blue figurine smiled up at him as always, but it looked and felt exactly the way it always had. No voices spoke to him out of the air. No thunder rolled. No dark clouds came rushing in to hide the morning sun.
    Johnny felt slightly silly. He was glad there wasn't anyone in the room watching him. "This is a dumb idea," he muttered to himself. "It isn't gonna make me any braver or anything." He got up and started peeling off his pajama top. It would be time to go to school soon.
    When Johnny walked into the church that morning, he suddenly remembered that it was the first day of May.
    On the altar were fresh flowers, and the six tall candles were lit. May meant processions, with kids marching solemnly around the church, and hymns and incense and organ music. That was all right with Johnny. He loved parades and processions. Later, after Mass, Johnny was up in the seventh-grade classroom, sitting at his desk. Sister Electa had not called the class to order yet. In fact she was not even in the room. So everybody was just talking and goofing off. With his finger Johnny idly drew circles in the layer of polish on the top of his desk. For no reason at all his prayer book popped into his head. Johnny was very proud of his prayer book. His dad had given it to him as a going-away present, before he had sent Johnny off to live with Gramma and Grampa in Duston Heights. Johnny used the prayer book every day. It had a black cover of genuine leather, with a gold cross stamped on the spine. The pages were made of onionskin paper, thin and whispery, and the top edge of each page was gilded, so when the book was closed, a glimmering gold bar shone out at you. There were illustrations all through the book, and fancy capital letters, and there were two bookmark ribbons, one purple, the other red. The prayer book was one of Johnny's prized possessions. It felt good just to hold the book in his hand.
    Smiling he reached down to the briefcase that stood on the floor next to his desk. The prayer book was in there with his other books. But Johnny's smile faded when he saw that the clasp on his briefcase was