Abarat. Clive Barker

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      “Oh well, that really makes me feel welcome.”

      “You know what I mean,” Candy’s mother protested. “So you don’t think Chickentown is boring?” Candy said.

      “There are worse places, believe me,” Melissa said. “At least it’s got a bit of history …”

      “Not much of one. Not according to the books I looked at,” Candy said.

      “You know who you should talk to?” Melissa said.

      “Who?”

      “Norma Lipnik. You remember Norma? She and I used to work at the Comfort Tree Hotel together?”

      “Vaguely,” Candy said.

      “All kinds of strange things happen at hotels. And the Comfort Tree has been around since … oh, I don’t know. You ask Norma, she’ll tell you.”

      “Is she the one with the white-blond hair, who always wore too much lipstick?”

      Melissa looked up at her daughter with a little smile. “Don’t you go saying anything rude to her now.”

      “I wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

      “I know how these things slip out with you.”

      “Mom. I’ll be really polite.”

      “Good. You do that. She’s the assistant manager there now, so if you’re real nice to her, and you ask the right questions, I bet you she’ll give you something for your project that nobody else in class will have.”

      “Like what?”

      “You go over there and ask her. She’ll remember you. Ask her to tell you about Henry Murkitt.”

      “Who’s Henry Murkitt?”

      “You go and ask her. It’s your project. You should get out there and do some legwork. Like a detective.”

      “Is there much to detect?” Candy said.

      “You’d be surprised.”

      She was. The first surprise was Norma Lipnik herself, who was no longer the tacky woman that Candy remembered: her hair teased high and her dress too short. In the eight years or so since Candy had seen Norma, she had let her hair go naturally gray. The bright red lipstick was a thing of the past, as were the short dresses. But once Candy had introduced herself, Norma’s new professional reserve was soon cast to the winds, and the warm gossipy woman Candy remembered emerged.

      “Lord, how you have grown, Candy,” she said. “I never see you around; you or your mother. Is she doing okay?”

      “Yeah, I guess.”

      “I heard your dad lost his job at the chicken factory. Had a little problem with the beer, so I was told?” Candy didn’t have time to agree or deny this. “You know what? I think that sometimes people should be given second chances. If you don’t give people second chances, how are they ever going to change?”

      “I don’t know,” Candy said, feeling uncomfortable.

      “Men.” Norma said, “You stay away from them, darlin’. They are more trouble than they’re worth. I’m on my third marriage, and I don’t give that more than two months.”

      “Oh—”

      “Anyway, you didn’t come over here to listen to me chattering on. So how can I help you?”

      “I’ve got this project to do, about Chickentown,” Candy explained. “It was set by Miss Schwartz, who always gives us these projects that are only fit for sixth graders. Besides, she doesn’t like me very much—”

      “Oh, don’t let her get you down, honey. There’s always one who makes your life hell. You’ll be out of school soon enough. What are you going to do then? Work over at the factory?”

      Candy felt a great weight settle on her shoulders, imagining that horrendous prospect.

      “I hope not,” she said. “I want to do something more with my life.”

      “But you don’t know what?”

      Candy shook her head.

      “Don’t worry, it’ll come to you,” Norma said. “I hope it does, because you don’t want to get stuck here.”

      “No, I don’t. I really don’t.”

      “So you’ve got a project about Chickentown—”

      “Yes. And Mom said there were some things that went on in the hotel I should find out about. She said you’d know what she was talking about.”

      “Did she indeed?” said Norma, with a teasing little smile.

      “She said to ask you about Henry—”

      “—Murkitt.”

      “Yes. Henry Murkitt.”

      “Poor old Henry. What else did she say? Did she tell you about Room Nineteen?”

      “No. She didn’t mention anything about a room. She just gave me the name.”

      “Well, I can tell you the tale,” Norma said. “But I don’t know if Murkitt’s story is the kind of thing your Miss Schwartz will be looking for.”

      “Why not?”

      “Well, because it’s rather dark,” Norma said. “Tragic, in fact.”

      Candy smiled. “Well, Mom says I’m morbid, so I’ll probably like it.”

      “Morbid, huh? All right,” said Norma. “I guess I should tell you the whole darn thing. You see, Chickentown used to be called Murkitt.”

      “Really? That wasn’t in any of the books about Minnesota.”

      “You know how it is. There’s the history that finds its way into the books and there’s the history that doesn’t.”

      “And Henry Murkitt—?”

      “—is part of the history that doesn’t.”

      “Huh.”

      Candy was fascinated. Remembering what her mother had said about doing some detective work, she took out her notebook and began to write in it. Murkitt. History we don’t know.

      “So the town was named after Henry Murkitt?”

      “No,” said Norma. “It was named after his grandfather Wallace Murkitt.”

      “Why did they change it?”

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