Molly Moon's Incredible Book of Hypnotism

  The screen filled with photographs of the gnomes, looking startled in the darkness, lit with police flashlights like criminals caught in the act. They looked very funny.

  The reporter continued. “The reason for the return of the jewels is baffling detectives. Some think that the robbery was some sort of dare, others believe the robbers themselves were robbed. The police are asking the public for any information that could help them solve the mystery. Now, back to the studio.”

  “More! More!” Rocky shouted at the TV. “We want more pictures of the gnomes, and more of the police looking baffled!” He fired the remote control at the TV, skimming through the channels, trying to find more news. “Aw,” he complained, “lunchtime news is over. I’ve never been on the news before. That was brilliant!”

  “We were brilliant,” agreed Molly. “We robbed that bank like professionals and returned the loot like undercover agents.”

  “Except we did have a few hiccups doing it….” Rocky chuckled. “Molly, you didn’t look quite so pleased with yourself in the bank when you thought you’d been caught on tape. Your face was so worried.”

  Molly remembered and grinned. “Okay, but not half as freaked out as you looked when you thought we wouldn’t get past those eye scanners….”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, but what about you, Molly, in Gramercy Park this morning when Petula went running off. I thought your bottom lip was going to fall off….”

  Molly and Rocky laughed as they relived the scariest moments, scene by scene.

  “And the crazy thing is no one will ever know who did it or how it was done. In fact, you know what?” Rocky pointed out proudly. “This crime will go down in history.”

  It would go down in history. Molly remembered how Nockman had hoped for that himself. Then she remembered some other things he’d said. Molly switched the TV off and started twiddling her napkin with her fingers.

  “You know, Rocky, I’m no better than Nockman really. I’m a criminal too.”

  Rocky looked surprised.

  “Yes I am, Rocky. If you think about it. I mean, look at this place. I conned my way here, I conned people to pay for it, I conned Davina Nuttel out of her part. I conned the audience at Briersville, so I stole the prize money really, and I cheated all those other kids out of a chance to win the talent show.”

  “Oh, shut up,” said Rocky lightheartedly. “You are a genius hypnotist. That’s what you’re good at. That’s what your talent is. I mean none of those other people in Briersville could have got to New York with their talent. You’re brilliant. Everyone’s happy. New Yorkers loved your show—they had the best night of their lives. And Rixey and Barry love you. Just look at all the publicity you’ve got them for Stars on Mars. You’re not a real thief; you just get what you want using a different method from everyone else. The only thing you ever actually really stole was Davina’s part, and she wasn’t an angel herself, was she? You and I are the only ones who know the truth, so really, Molly, what does it matter?”

  “Yeah, I know, but being truthful is better, isn’t it, Rocky?”

  “Okay, it is, but Molly, I’m not having you going on some kind of guilt trip now. Loosen up.”

  Molly did feel guilty, but she felt more than that. Like a runaway horse that had galloped and galloped, she’d found herself in a place where she didn’t really want to be. Being with Rocky had made her slow down and look about.

  “Rocky, it’s not just that. There’s something else that is making me feel … well, bad. I know this hotel room is amazing and everything, but the thing is, Rock, I’m starting to not like being Molly Moon the Star. Maybe I would if I really was the person who everyone thinks I am, but the thing is, I’m not. I’m getting tired of this thing where people like me just because they’ve been hypnotized to like me. People aren’t liking the real me. They’re liking something unreal. Like an ad. They’re liking a sort of fake Molly Moon. So it makes the real me feel like rubbish, and my life here is just a waste of time, because it’s not the real Molly Moon’s life. Nobody is getting to know the real-life Molly Moon.” She looked at Petula, sound asleep. “I mean, even Petula doesn’t properly like me. I hypnotized her to like me.”

  “Molly! But that was ages ago. Your hypnosis on Petula must have worn off by now.”

  “Worn off? What are you talking about?”

  “Molly, it doesn’t last forever, you know. Didn’t you realize? The lessons that animals or people learn from hypnosis can last forever, like Petula not eating chocolate cookies. She got into new habits that made her feel good, so she continued being like that. But the hypnotism doesn’t last forever. Petula’s not hypnotized anymore. Now she likes you because she does.”

  “So you mean that the hypnotism I did on Barry Bragg and Rixey Bloomy will wear off?” Molly’s mouth fell open.

  “Sure. Eventually. They won’t ever know that they were actually hypnotized, and they’ll always remember you as brilliant. But if you didn’t see them for six months, they wouldn’t think you were as brilliant as they thought you were before. You’d have to hypnotize them all over again.”

  “And the audience I hypnotized?”

  “The same. They’ll remember you being good, but if they saw you onstage again, you’d have to hypnotize them afresh; otherwise they’d see your little singing and dancing routine for what it was.”

  “But how do you know all of this?” asked Molly.

  “From the book, of course,” said Rocky. Molly looked perplexed. “Oh, whoops,” he said, covering his mouth with his hand, “it was written at the end of chapter eight.”

  “So that piece of vital information was in your pocket. Jeepers!”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Molly thoughtfully after a few moments. “So, hypnotism wears off. Well, you know what? The sparkle of my life here has worn off too. I wanted to leave New York with you and Petula anyway. Now that you’ve told me all this, I really want to go. Having to charm and hypnotize everyone all the time, forever … uuurgh! What a nightmare!”

  “Where do you want to go?” asked Rocky.

  Molly looked up at the ceiling. “I’ve been worrying,” she admitted, “about everyone at Hardwick House. Not Hazel or Gordon or Roger, but about Gemma and Gerry, and Ruby and Jinx.”

  “Mmmnn, so have I,” agreed Rocky. “Imagine what it must be like there with Hazel in charge. It’s probably worse than when Miss Adderstone was there.”

  “And it’s all my fault,” said Molly. “I bet Hazel has them doing all the work. I want to go back. But you, Rocky … you won’t want to come back, not now that you’ve got your new parents.”

  “Ah. Well, Molly, I’ve got something to tell you about the Alabasters. They aren’t very nice.”

  “Not very nice?”

  “No. In fact they are horrible.”

  Rocky proceeded to tell Molly about the dreadful Alabasters, who had seemed wonderful the day they visited Hardwick House, but who had shown their true colors once back in the States. They’d been very, very strict, and Rocky found their house like a jail.

  “They wanted to dress me in stiff, old-fashioned suits and make me sit inside doing puzzles or making origami.”

  “What’s origami?”

  “You know, that Japanese art of folding paper. I wouldn’t have minded doing it a bit, it was just that they gave me a book to learn it from, and the instructions were impossible to follow, and they wanted me to do it all day long.”

  “All day?”

  “Well, a lot. They said it would discipline my mind. I hypnotized them, of course, to drop the origami.”

  “What else?”

  “Well, they didn’t like me going out in case I muddied my clothes. Or in case I caught a bug from another kid. Not that I saw any other kids. Their neighborhood was full of old people. Once, when I went on a walk, they called the police! If they’d had their way, I wouldn’t have been allowed to sing or whistle or go for a walk or watch TV. They liked me reading, but the only books
were ancient ones that Mrs. Alabaster had when she was a girl. Oh, and the food they ate was gross—they were both on special diets, and so I had to eat their rabbit food with them.”

  “Rabbit food?”

  “Well, it looked like rabbit food. Sometimes it looked like cat food with goldfish food sprinkled on top. Everything they did was weird. Worst of all, I missed you. I mean, you’re my family, Molly. I’ve known you forever.”

  Molly felt all warm inside. “Thanks, Rocky.” There were a few moments of silence as the two smiled at each other, appreciating what they had. Then Molly asked, “But how will you get away?”

  “I’ll hypnotize them that it never worked out because they didn’t like me. I’ll make them think that they sent me back and that it was all for the best, you know, that sort of thing.”

  “It’s going to be difficult disentangling myself from New York,” said Molly with dread in her voice.

  “You can fix everything,” said Rocky thoughtfully. “I know what you should do. And I think I may know how you can make up for all your guilt about the conning you’ve been doing. You just need to make a few phone calls.”

  Ten minutes later Molly was on the phone. “Yes, Barry, so Petula got returned in the night.”

  “Just like the Shorings Bank gnomes!” said Barry.

  “Yes, like the gnomes. But you see, Barry, the whole kidnap thing has freaked me out. And I’ve decided I want Davina to have the part back. I want to take a long break.”

  “But …”

  “I have to go,” said Molly firmly.

  “I see,” said Barry. “Well, Rixey and I and the cast will miss you.”

  “Thank you. I’ll miss you, too. Now, Barry, listen carefully. You must arrange for the hotel bill to be paid and I want some wages. Er, how much do you think is really fair?”

  “Well—con-sidering the—amount you’ve cost—to keep—and the cost—of that massive—magnifying glass—balanced against the—great publicity—you got the show—well—I think—thirty thousand dollars,” calculated Barry, thinking about his ten percent cut.

  “Okay,” said Molly, very pleased by his sums, “great. Please will you get that delivered to the Waldorf by four o’clock today. Oh, and I’ll have it in cash.”

  “A-greed.”

  “And, Barry, tell Rixey that I can’t do the show again tonight. Let Laura, the understudy, do it…. Oh, and talking of Laura, will you look after her, Barry? Make sure she gets a really good lead part in something … take-her-under-your-wing sort of thing …”

  “A-greed.”

  “Then no one is to know I’m actually leaving until tomorrow.”

  “A-greed.”

  “Tell Rixey you had a long, long conversation with me and that I said good-bye.”

  “A-greed.”

  “So, good-bye, and, well, thank you for everything.”

  “A-greed,” said Barry, and he put the phone down.

  “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” said Rocky.

  “No,” said Molly, although inside she was feeling slightly sad. She’d grown fond of barmy old Barry Bragg, and she would miss him.

  Thirty-two

  At two thirty exactly, Nockman knocked at Molly’s door. He looked smart in the brown-and-gold doorman’s uniform with its matching cap that the receptionist had given him. He shuffled obediently into the room, and Molly and Rocky studied him. His hair was still a straggly black mane, and his face, although clean and shaven now, was bloated and unhealthy looking and he had a scabby red rash under his chin.

  “A haircut, I think,” said Rocky. Molly put a towel around Nockman’s shoulders while Rocky found some scissors.

  Without his tail of hair, Nockman looked much better. Bald as an egg at the front with a fringe of hair around the back, he looked like a monk.

  Rocky gave him a banana. “For a few days you will eat nothing but fruit. It will do you good. And you will give up smoking.” Nockman tore open the banana and stuffed it into his mouth. Bits of banana fell out all over the floor.

  “What about his manners? They’re revolting,” Molly pointed out.

  “Okay,” agreed Rocky. “From now on, Nockman, you will eat like …”

  “Like a queen,” suggested Molly.

  “Er, could I have a napkin and a finger bowl please?” Nockman asked.

  “And his accent must change,” said Molly. “A Chicago accent might get us caught. From now on, you will talk in a … a German accent.”

  “Okay, I vill do zat,” Nockman agreed.

  After Nockman had finished his banana, Rocky asked him to stand up. Rocky and Molly walked around him again and observed his slouched back, his squashed neck, and his double chin.

  “Couldn’t we make him look a bit friendlier?” asked Rocky. Experimenting, he demanded, “Look like a puppy.”

  Nockman immediately stuck out his tongue and raised his hands like paws. His eyes were wide and eager.

  “That’s nearly it. Just put your tongue back in.” Nockman obeyed. Rocky whispered to Molly, “He’s so weird. I feel sorry for him.”

  “Sorry for him? He’s a rat,” Molly replied.

  Nockman began to do a rat impersonation, crouching on the floor, sniffing. “I didn’t say be a rat,” said Molly.

  “Sorry, Miss Hair Dryer,” Nockman apologized.

  “But he’s got no friends,” whispered Rocky.

  “Bet he has. Lots of other rats. Let’s ask him. Let’s find out about him. Do you have any friends?” asked Molly.

  “No, no. No friends ever,” stated Nockman in his German accent. “Except, I did have a fluffy pet parakeet—once. Eeet used to sing so—beautiful, and fly-around ze garden.” Tears welled up in Nockman’s eyes. Molly was taken aback. The last thing she wanted was to feel was pity for Nockman.

  But Rocky was intrigued. “What happened to it?”

  “It—vas—killed in—Mr. Snuff’s—rat trap. I found it-dead.”

  “How horrible,” said Rocky. “Molly, you have to agree, that is sad … Poor parakeet, poor you. But who was Mr. Snuff?”

  “He vas our landlord. Vee shared a garden vith him.”

  “And why didn’t you have any other friends?” asked Rocky.

  “Because—I—vas veird.”

  “Weird? How?”

  “Just veird. Unpopular.”

  “I didn’t realize. This is awful,” said Rocky. “I do feel sorry for him.”

  “I don’t,” declared Molly. “He was really nasty to Petula and very mean to me. Just stop it, Rocky. What’s come over you? The guy’s a jerk.”

  “I don’t think he’s mean all the way at the bottom,” said Rocky.

  “You don’t? Let’s ask him. Right, mister. Please will you list all the nasty things that you’ve done since your parakeet died.”

  Nockman nodded his head and began to talk in a childish voice. “I set a rat—trap and put it under ze table where—Mr. Snuff sat—and it snapped shut—on his foot—just like it had—on—my F-F-Fluff.”

  Rocky looked at Molly with a well-that-was-fair-enough look.

  Nockman continued, “I tipped ze parakeet food into Mr. Snuff’s cereal box and he ate it.” This, too, sounded fair.

  “Okay, okay,” said Molly. “Don’t tell any more nasty things you did to Mr. Snuff, because he obviously deserved it. Tell us other nasty things.”

  A flood of confessions now tumbled out of Nockman’s mouth. “I stole Stuart Blithe’s watch—and blamed it on another boy—and he got a beating from ze principal. I scribbled all over—ze homework of Shirley Denning—and I drew all over her best pictures. I made Robin Fletcher eat fifteen—dead flies, and zen ven he was sick—I made him eat ze sick. I pushed Debra Cronly’s head through ze banister in the stairs—and ze fire brigade had to come and cut her free. I stole—children’s candy—and said if zay told, I’d flush zair heads down ze toilets …”

  Molly interrupted. “That’s deep-down mean, isn’t it, Rocky?”

  Rocky shrugged. “I supp
ose so.”

  “What else?” asked Molly. “And skip a few years.”

  Nockman’s voice now sounded older. “I burned Danny Tike’s model airplane zat he’d spent three veeks making. I stretched string—in between two posts near—ze nursing home and tripped up—old Mrs. Stokes so zat she—broke her nose. Eeet vas very funny. Zen I tripped up—ze blind man. Zat vas easy—and I stole his vallet.”

  “Stole his wallet?!” Molly was really shocked. “And later?”

  “Later.” Nockman’s memory fast-forwarded, past numerous foul deeds. “Later, I learned—to steal else-vare. Zis vas very—useful. Kids’ toys, anything I could steal. And I learned how—to sell zem—to a secondhand store. Zis vas—ze start—of my career.”

  “And how old were you then?”

  “Eleven.”

  “What else?”

  “I stole a girl’s bicycle and locked—her in a storeroom. No one knew she was zare for—a day and a—night. I got small kids to steal from zare parents. If zay told—I beat zem up. I forced one kid to rob—an old man’s house—for me. He fit srew ze—small vindow. Zat vas good—verk.”

  “Zat, I mean that, was not good work,” Molly corrected him.

  “No, no, not good,” said Nockman, his mind suddenly changing.

  “What about the recent years?”

  “Vell,” explained Nockman, in a flat voice, “I did very vell vunce—ven I managed—to persuade—an old lady—to give me her life’s savings. I told her eet vas for a stray-dog home. She gave me—two hundred and fifty—thousand bucks. I bought my varehouses—and set my business up.”

  Rocky made a face as if he’d just swallowed a pickled egg.

  “Your business?”

  “Yes. I deal in—stolen goods.”

  “Not anymore you don’t,” said Molly.

  “No,” agreed Nockman. “No.”

  “So,” continued Molly, “what do you consider was the highlight of your career?”

  “Ah …” said Nockman, his hypnotized eyes going all dreamy suddenly. “Ah—vell, ze best—sing I ever deescovered—vas a hypnoteesum book. Ze old lady-she told me all about eet. Vis ze book—I masterminded ze greatest—bank robbery—of ze world. I robbed—Shorings Bank eetself—een New York.”