In the Middle of the Night by Robert Cormier Read Free Book Online Page A

“A big cleanup job. But what’s a show without popcorn?”
    Glancing at his watch, Mr. Zarbor said: “Five minutes more. Then the big bang …”
    John Paul knew what Mr. Zarbor meant. Martini the Magnificent was especially proud of his dramatic opening. First a big boom, like an explosion, which never failed, he said, to bring on a stunning silence. Then total darkness. So dark the audience would not see the curtain silently part and open. Then a small dim light onstage, followed by another. Then another. Pinpoints of light like tiny stars winking in a darkened sky. Finally, Martini would appear as if suspended in the darkness. And the show would commence.
    A mysterious and magic moment occurs a few minutes before a stage show begins, as if a silent signal has been sent. John Paul had seen this happen a number of times. It was happening now. The theater became quiet, a spooky kind of quiet. There was no clock in the theater and most of the children did not have watches, but they sensed that the show was about to start. They were instantly subdued, as if every child in the place had taken a deep breath and was holding it.
    Awed by the stillness, John Paul was startled when Mr. Zarbor touched his arm. “What was that?” Mr. Zarbor asked. His voice a whisper in the quietness.
    John Paul frowned. Did he mean the sudden absence of sound? No, something else. “Listen.” Now John Paul heard something. But what? A slow creaking sound. He thought, for some reason, of a ship tearing loose from its mooring, its deck creaking eerily, although he had never heard such a sound before—unless he’d heard it in a movie.
    The sound again. Louder.
    He and Mr. Zarbor exchanged puzzled looks.
    The noise: this time like a huge nail being pulled from a board by a hammer. Crazy, but that is what it sounded like to him. A creaking, yanking noise. From the balcony.
    John Paul looked, and so did Mr. Zarbor. John Paul thought some kids might have crept up there and were fooling around in the junk and debris.
    “Better go see,” Mr. Zarbor said.
    Dark up there, as usual. “I do not have my flashlight,” John Paul said.
    “Here.” Mr. Zarbor handed him a book of matches.
    Reluctantly, John Paul made his way up the centeraisle and through the lobby, then ascended the soiled carpeted steps to the balcony. The giant chandelier hanging from the ceiling gave no light: the bulbs had long ago burned out. He squinted into the semidarkness at the accumulation of junk. Old newspapers, cartons, piles of rags, old rolled-up posters. Saw no one. Was startled by that strange creaking sound almost beneath his feet. Much louder than before.
    Then: the explosion from the stage as the show began, the sound booming through the air, banging against the walls, echoing from the high ceiling. The delighted cries and gasps of the children. Then darkness. And silence.
    John Paul blinked: like being struck blind, this utter darkness.
    A movement beneath his feet as if he were standing on a ship that was leaving the dock.
    He struck a match, missed the first time, tried again. The flame created a small bright cave in the darkness. Suddenly the entire matchbook caught fire, because he had held the flaming match too close to the others. Pain singed his palm. He dropped the matchbook, watched it flare toward the floor and, to his horror, saw it ignite a ribbon of crepe paper draped over a cardboard box.
    He tried to stamp out the flame but was thrown off-balance as the floor swayed beneath his feet.
    “Fire!” someone yelled from the stage. Someone who saw the flames and knew this was not part of the show’s opening. The floor lurched again, definite this time. The impossible thought,
earthquake
, came to his mind.
    “Fire!” The voice now a scream filled with terror.
    The audience did not respond, while all the time theflames were spreading to a pile of newspapers and another cardboard box. Smoke erupted, rolling between the seats.
    “Fire!” This time, no