Hercules!” Homer called, a smile bursting forth.

Dog pulled the leash from Homer’s grip as he bounded toward the elevator. The boy, whose name was Hercules Simple, entered the lobby. He set three boxes on the floor, then knelt and scratched Dog’s rump. “Hi, Dog. How’ve you been?” Dog’s back legs did their little happy dance.

Homer was surprised to see his friend, even though they were both members of L.O.S.T. “I didn’t know if you’d be here,” Homer said. “Lofty Spires is a long way away.”

“I just got here this afternoon.” Hercules stood and stuck his hands in his pockets. He wore his usual attire—jeans and a long-sleeved rugby shirt. This one had red and white stripes. “Ajitabh said the membership would be electing a new president so they’d need me for the paperwork. Being L.O.S.T.’s records keeper means I have to be at all these important events. I hope this doesn’t take long. I’ve got to get home to study for the World’s Spelling Bee. It’s in one month.”

“I hope you win again.”

“Me, too.” Hercules scratched his wide nose, which was dotted with pimples. Then his expression turned serious. “I wish I didn’t have to be here. I hate funerals.”

“I’ve never been to one,” Homer said.

“Well, they’re always sad. And they’re always long.” Hercules’s gaze settled on the spot where the cleaning lady had been mopping. “Better not walk over there. You could slip and break your neck.”

Same old Hercules, always worried about everything. Despite the fact that a funeral was about to take place, a warm feeling filled Homer’s chest. Even though he and Hercules were different in many ways, they’d become the best of friends. The boys had known each other for only a few months, but they had faced near death in a coliseum, had jumped out of an airplane, and had almost been killed by a bear. Those are the kinds of experiences that bond people. Plus, Hercules had saved Dog’s life. And that was a huge plus.

The truth was, Homer had no real friends back in Milkydale. All his classmates thought he was a weirdo. But so what if he used to wear a compass to school? So what if he preferred digging holes to playing dodgeball? So what if he knew the names of every great treasure hunter but didn’t know who had won the World Series or who had the best batting average? He had a treasure-sniffing dog!

“What’s in the boxes?” Homer asked.

“Oh, right.” Hercules handed one to Homer. It had his name written on it. “Ajitabh said we’re supposed to change into these new clothes. There’s one for Dog, too.”

They headed to the gentlemen’s lavatory—a huge room of polished marble and gleaming mirrors. The boys set the boxes next to a row of sinks with mockingbird faucets. Homer opened his. Inside, a note card lay on perfectly folded tissue paper.

Traditional Mourning Attire Designed and Fabricated by Victor Tuffletop, Official Tailor of L.O.S.T. For Mr. Homer W. Pudding

The two large boxes contained identical clothing—a pair of black pants, a white button-down shirt, a black vest, a black suit coat with long coattails, a black tie, a pair of white gloves, and a black top hat. Hercules showed Homer how to tie the tie. “Never make the knot too tight or you could suffocate.” Then they pulled on the gloves and set the top hats on their heads.

“This wool is going to make me hot and itchy,” Hercules said, running his hand over the suit coat. “I’m sure to get a rash.”

Homer inspected his reflection. “We look like we’re in a movie or something.” He glanced at his sneakers. They didn’t match the fancy outfit, but since no shoes were included, they’d have to do.

He opened the third, smaller box.

Traditional Canine Mourning Attire Designed and Fabricated by Victor Tuffletop, Official Tailor of L.O.S.T. For Dog

A black vest was the only garment in the box. It fit perfectly around Dog’s tummy.

“They’re waiting for us in the graveyard,” Hercules said.

The lobby was still empty. They stuffed their day clothes into the boxes and stored them behind the reception counter along with Homer’s backpack. Then Homer and Dog followed Hercules down a hallway. Sweat prickled the back of Homer’s neck. Hercules was right about the wool being hot and itchy. “How far away is the graveyard?”

“It’s behind the hotel.”

“That’s a weird place for a graveyard.” Homer scratched his neck. “Hey, you want to hear something else that’s kinda weird?” He didn’t wait for a reply, because of course Hercules wanted to hear something weird. “The cleaning lady told me to beware the lost and found.”

“That is weird. Maybe there’s something dangerous in the hotel lost and found. I wonder what it could be.” Hercules fiddled with his top hat. “I wish I had my helmet. If we have to look at Lord Mockingbird’s dead body, I might faint. If I faint, I might hit my head on a tombstone.”

Homer wasn’t worried. He’d seen lots of dead things, thanks to his sister’s gruesome hobby. Her laboratory was like a convention for dead things. But he remembered how Hercules had passed out when they’d come face-to-face with a grizzly bear on Mushroom Island. “Stand close to me. I’ll try to catch you if you faint.”

“Thanks.”

A pair of glass doors stood at the end of the hallway. Dog and the boys pushed through and stepped into a walled-in cemetery that had been built behind the Mockingbird Hotel. “This place is creepy,” Hercules whispered.

“Real creepy,” Homer agreed.

“Urrrr.”

The night air had turned brisk. Streetlamps towered above the wall, casting a glow over the cemetery. Most of the headstones were ancient, worn down by wind, rain, and time, their edges crumbling away. The stones were tilted, as if each grave’s occupant had vertigo. Moldy flowers lay on a few graves. A lifeless tree reached with gnarled, leafless arms. A hawk sat on one of the branches, preening its feathers.

Homer read the headstones as he passed by. A silhouette of a mockingbird had been carved into each one, along with the occupant’s name: Lord Mockingbird the X, Lady Mockingbird the VII, Little Lord Mockingbird the III. A tiny headstone read: Baby Mockingbird. Homer held tight to Dog’s leash. Thankfully, Dog had already piddled.

A group of people stood in a cluster at the far end of the cemetery. The women all wore black veils. The men wore the same outfits as Homer and Hercules. Their top hats bobbed as they turned to look at the boys. No one spoke. Ajitabh stepped away from the group and motioned for the boys to approach.

Homer immediately recognized his friend Zelda. At eight feet two inches tall, she stood out in any crowd. Her long hair cascaded down her black cape like molten silver. Wearing her usual sad expression, she nodded at Homer. He was about to wave at her when the leash tightened. Dog pushed his way past black pants and coattails with the urgency of a sled dog. Homer stumbled forward. “Excuse me,” he said. People stepped aside as Dog pulled Homer through the crowd.

Dog stopped at the edge of a deep hole. Homer caught his breath and looked down into the newly dug grave. A casket rested at the bottom. Homer’s face, reflected in the casket’s shiny surface, peered back up at him. Dog lay on his stomach and pointed his nose into the hole. He whimpered. Did he know that Lord Mockingbird, his previous owner, had died? How could he possibly know that? That would be amazing. But then again, Dog was amazing.

Ajitabh cleared his throat. “I believe we are all gathered,” he said. People mumbled and nodded. “Righteo. Let us commence.” Ajitabh walked around the perimeter of the grave. A stone pedestal stood on the other side, directly across from Homer. A television set, the old-fashioned kind with knobs and a bulging oval screen, sat atop. Ajitabh removed one of his white gloves and turned a knob.

A crackling sound filled the graveyard. Black-and-white lines rolled across the screen. Then a voice said, “Gather round, you blithering numbskulls.”

A shiver ran up Homer’s spine. He knew that ancient voice. Dog got to his feet, his tail wagging as he stared at the screen.

A face slowly appeared on the screen—a white-haired old man with prunelike skin. Lord Mockingbird XVIII stared from the television, waiting, as if he knew it would take a while for his image to focus. Once it had focused, and once everyone in the crowd had stopped gasping with surprise, His Lordship smiled wickedly.

“If you are hearing this, then I must be dead,” he said. “And if I am dead, then you are all in for a big kerfuffle.”