Thriller

by Jon Scieszka

Full dark had fallen on the neighborhood, but high above, the sky was still the blue of your oldest pair of jeans. The happy clatter of families making dinner drifted from nearby houses.

  We stopped at the foot of my driveway.

  “Well,” said Jeremy. “That happened.”

  “Yeah. But who’d believe us?”

  A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Only the whole world, dude.”

  “What?”

  Jeremy pulled my cell phone from his jacket, and I remembered the accidental flash that startled the Pukwudgies.

  “Let me see!” My hands were trembling. The world of cryptid hunters is full of terrible, blurry photos that don’t prove anything (other than that the person who took them was a lousy photographer).

  Would our shot be any different?

  I scrolled through my photo library to the last one taken.

  And there it was. Blurry and dim, but you could just make out the startled faces of two Pukwudgies—honking big noses, beady eyes, and all.

  “Sweet!” said Jeremy.

  I smiled. But then I looked closer. Behind the trolls, caught in the flash’s glare, I saw something I’d never expected, not in a million years.

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  “Is that—?” said Jeremy.

  And I knew our monster adventure was only beginning.

  Boys Will Be Boys

  by James Patterson

  As soon as they boarded the light rail at the Mount Washington stop, the two boys got as far away as they could from everyone else in their class. They squeezed in beside an old lady in a Mets hat, who gave them a sour glance.

  Fred was laughing himself goofy.

  Will pushed his shoulder. “Shut up.”

  Fred continued to snort. “You are totally into her,” he choked out between gasps. “Totally.”

  “Shut. Up,” said Will, punching Fred’s arm.

  “That’s okay,” said Fred. “She is pretty hot. If you like weight lifters.”

  Will punched Fred again. Harder this time. “I said, shut up!” He edged away and pulled out his DS, wishing Fred would leave him alone for once. They had been best friends all their lives, but there were times—and this was one of them—when being friends with Fred was more trouble than it was worth.

  Fred seemed to get the message, which was unusual for him. He slid over a little himself, and started humming.

  Will tried not to listen to what Fred was humming, but pretty soon he realized that the song was “I Kissed a Girl.” Fred started laughing again. Will gave Fred one more slug and got up to sit in the front of the car. Fred could be such a jerk sometimes.

  The train stopped at Cold Spring Avenue. Two older guys got on. Will sort of thought he recognized them. They looked to be about his brother’s age—somewhere in high school. They must have played in some game against his brother’s school. But they didn’t look like athletes. They looked like trouble. They smelled like a bad combination of cigarettes and BO. They each grabbed two greasy metal handholds hanging down from the ceiling right behind Will. They swung on the handholds like a couple of apes.

  The big and fat guy with the greasy mop of hair around his head was laughing so hard he started coughing. “Oh man, if Narky and Deke pull this off, this is going to be awesome,” he said. “How long till we get there?”

  “Quiet,” said the little wiry one. He was definitely more dangerous-looking. He scanned the train car and caught Will staring at them. He looked daggers back at Will, which made Will gulp, go sweaty, and turn away, trying to shrink into the corner. But Will couldn’t stop checking them out in spite of himself.

  Will saw the little ape hitch his head to the side, motioning to the big ape to move farther down the car. They shuffled back until they stood hanging right over Fred. The little guy gave Fred the eye. Fred got the message and got up, taking the handholds himself. The two apes squeezed onto the bench where Fred and Will had been sitting. They put their heads together, talking in low voices. Will kept watching them carefully out of the corner of his eye. Every few seconds, Big Ape would snort and laugh and put up his fist for a bump from Little Ape, who would return the gesture after a second.

  Will walked to the front of the car until he was standing right behind the glass partition where the driver sat. He was trying to get as far away from the apes as possible, but Fred stayed put. Will noticed he was looking around the train car as though his mind was somewhere else. But Will knew better. Fred was pretty lame some of the time, but he was one of the world’s best eavesdroppers. He learned stuff from listening around lockers and desks that no one knew. Will remembered why he liked hanging out with his friend.

  After a few moments, Fred made his way to the front of the car. He stood next to Will with his back to the apes. He said in a low voice, “Don’t look now, but do you know those two guys who just got on?”

  Will took a quick glance back over Fred’s shoulder. “Yeah, I’m not sure who they are,” he whispered. “But they’re creeping me out.”

  “They’re setting up some kind of gigantic prank or something,” said Fred. “They keep casing out the train. And the big guy keeps saying stuff like, ‘Gonna be Crazy Town!’ and ‘Old farts gonna drop like flies!’”

  Will swallowed nervously and turned back toward the driver. “Do you think they’re going to pull the emergency brake?”

  “Maybe,” said Fred, turning back himself. “But it sounds like something bigger than that.”

  “Do you think we should tell someone?” said Will.

  “Tell them what?” said Fred. “That two guys are laughing about something? What would they even do? And what if those guys find out we tried to get them in trouble?”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” said Will, turning back quickly again, in spite of himself—just long enough to see Little Ape giving him the Glance of Death. Will almost peed his pants.

  The train pulled into the Woodbury stop and Will and Fred huddled forward to avoid the crush of new passengers. After some silent jostling, the bell sounded and the train slipped back into gear.

  Through the glass partition at the front of the car, the boys watched the driver adjust the train’s speed, then take out his cell phone.

  “When I was little I really wanted to be a train engineer,” said Fred, which Will took to mean he was trying to change the subject.

  “When did you decide being a dork would be more fun?”

  “The same time you realized you’d rather be a benchwarmer than an actual baseball player,” said Fred.

  The driver nudged forward a black-handled lever.

  “How much do you think you make as a train engineer?” asked Fred.

  “I bet sixty thousand, starters,” said Will. “That’s pretty skilled work.”

  “More than a teacher?”

  “Ask him,” said Will, pointing at the driver on the other side of the glass.

  “No, you,” said Fred.

  “I don’t care how much he gets paid. It looks insanely boring,” said Will.

  “I don’t think so,” said Fred.

  “Then how come more people don’t want to do it?” said Will.

  “I bet lots of people want to do it; it’s just there aren’t that many openings. I mean, how many trains are there?” said Fred.

  “There are a lot more in Europe,” said Will. He’d just returned from a family trip to France and thought he needed to mention it at least once every five minutes. “Here, everyone drives cars.”

  “Anybody can drive a car,” said Fred. “Driving a train could be so much cooler. Who ever ran around saying they wanted to grow up and be a car driver?”

  “Race-car drivers,” said Will.

  “Yeah, but that’s different. I mean regular drivers, just like regular train drivers; there aren’t any race-train drivers.” Fred laughed. “Are there?”

  “Just this guy,” said Will.

  “And he’s got the skills to do it blindfolded,” said Fred. The driver was looking down at his
phone, entirely oblivious to the tracks ahead.

  “Well, I guess there’s no steering wheel to worry about,” said Will.

  The white concrete ties blurred at the bottom frame of the window, and the lush vegetation blurred past on either side like it was coming off two freely spinning bolts of fabric. The boys jostled sideways as the train took another bend in the tracks.

  “Smash left!” said Fred, laughing.

  “Get off!” said Will, grabbing at Fred’s T-shirt to keep from falling. The track straightened and deposited the train in a long, green valley traversed by two lofty highway overpasses.

  Fred was watching the driver—still looking at his phone—so Will saw the man first. The curve in the tracks had hidden him from view but now there he was—dressed in jeans and what looked like a hooded bubble jacket, lying facedown across the tracks so that his legs were over one rail and his shoulders and neck across the other. If he knew there was a train coming, he wasn’t doing anything about it.

  Will tried to yell, but the best he could manage was to grab Fred’s arm and shake him.

  “Hey!” yelled Fred, looking first at his nearly paralyzed friend and then to where Will was staring—out the front window. He saw the body and yelled himself. The driver jerked his head up.

  One of the body’s arms was bent strangely and the hand—rigid and pale in the slanting morning sunlight—was thrust upward behind its back.

  “It’s too late,” Fred whispered.

  The horn bleated and the train shuddered violently as the driver finally hit the brakes. The already off-balance boys were thrown up against the glass—they almost couldn’t have looked away if they’d tried. Fred was right: there was no way he could stop the train in time to keep it from crushing the man on the tracks.

  It was all over in a few seconds. The man was quickly and—below the shuddering din of the decelerating train—silently sucked underneath.

  “No!” Fred and Will both yelled.

  The train lurched to a stop. Fred and Will looked at each other. They couldn’t believe what they’d just seen. They were so shocked that they almost didn’t catch the glimpse of color out the window, just off the edge of the tracks—two guys in hooded, purple-and-black football jackets clambering away up over the crest of the wooded incline to the right of the rail bed.

  Fred whispered, “What the . . .”

  Will realized he was still gripping Fred’s arm with all his strength. He let go and slid down onto the ridged-rubber floor of the train car, trying to fight back tears.

  The driver shut off the horn. Fred looked down at Will.

  “Maybe he was unconscious or even dead already,” said Fred. “I didn’t see him move at all.”

  “Gonna . . . be . . . sick,” gasped Will.

  “Breathe deep,” said Fred, patting his friend on the back.

  The driver had been bent over his console, entirely motionless until he heard Fred’s voice. He turned and addressed him through the partition.

  “You see that?” he asked.

  Fred nodded.

  “Can you keep quiet for a bit?” said the driver. “Dispatch will see we’re stopped and the police will come, but it’s important not to panic the passengers while we wait.”

  Fred nodded again.

  The driver turned back to his control panel and spoke briefly into his cell phone. Then he took his seat and swiveled the silver articulated microphone to his mouth.

  His voice crackled throughout the train.

  “Attention, passengers. We are being held momentarily by the dispatcher. Please remain in your seats and be patient. Apologies for the sudden stop. If anyone was hurt, please stay where you are and someone will be with you shortly.”

  An annoyed, speculative buzz rose through the train compartment. “What’s wrong with the kid up front?” some-one said.

  The old lady in the Mets hat had toppled out of her seat and was lying on the floor holding her shoulder and groaning. A couple of other people reached out to help her but she cried, “Don’t touch me! You’ll make it worse!”

  Fred and Will looked back at the commotion. They both saw Big Ape and his Little Ape pal moving to the back of the train. The little guy turned like he knew they were watching. He gave them one intense stare, and then disappeared into the milling crowd.

  Soon the car was filled with the Mets hat lady’s moans. Some other people in the compartment were rubbing their foreheads or arms where they had bumped the seat backs. Fred and Will’s social studies teacher, Mr. Brown, found them at the front of the train.

  “Are you guys all right?” he said, holding Will’s shoulder and looking them both over. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” said Will, his eyes big and staring. The driver told them to not say anything, but did he mean to not say anything to their teacher even?

  The police arrived within a few minutes. The driver exited and locked his compartment. He produced a cookie-cutter key and inserted it into the recessed lock next to the right-side doors. They folded open, and a middle-aged officer appeared at the foot of the stairs. He looked up at the driver, somberly.

  “That stiff,” he said, “was stiff.”

  “He was dead already?” asked the driver.

  The cop shook his head somberly.

  “Stiffer than that.”

  “What?”

  The officer cracked a smile. “It was a freakin’ mannequin!”

  “What?” repeated the driver.

  “A department store mannequin.”

  The driver collapsed back against the wall, folded his arms across his chest, and shook his head.

  “Did you see anyone around?” asked the policeman.

  The driver shook his head.

  Fred looked at Will. Will looked at Fred. If they didn’t say anything, no one would ever know they saw anybody. They would go on their way to their field trip. The guys in the purple-and-black football jackets would go on with their lives.

  “Pretty sick idea for a joke,” said the policeman. “You have to wonder who would pull a stunt like that. Does somebody hate you, train guy?”

  The driver shook his head again. He still looked dazed.

  Fred realized this might mess with this guy’s mind for a long time. Fred nodded to Will. Will said, “We saw some kids running up the hill over there.”

  The policeman turned to him coolly. “How many?”

  “Two,” said Will quietly.

  “We were standing up front here,” explained Fred. “We saw them run off into the woods.”

  “Well, I guess you two get to stay behind for questioning then,” he said.

  “I’ll stay with you guys,” said Mr. Brown. “Mrs. Balzer and Mrs. Bray can handle the field trip.”

  Another officer, a woman, stepped up behind them.

  “Should we ask the cattle if they saw anything, Jake?”

  “Well, these two said they did. Go ahead and do a quick sweep while you and Taylor check for injuries. Anyone who saw anything or anyone with a boo-boo gets off here. Otherwise I don’t see any reason why the train can’t keep going.”

  “I was supposed to swap out of my shift down at the yard,” said the driver. “You want to interview me there?”

  “Mount Royal depot? Sure. We’ll meet you outside.” He turned to the boys. “Come on, you two. You see that cruiser over there? Officer Kronsky will take your statements.”

  “I’ll get my bag and meet you there,” said Mr. Brown. The policeman nodded.

  Outside the train, some plainclothes policemen went onto the tracks, picking up and bagging the scattered plastic-and-wire pieces of the demolished dummy.

  “Great,” said Will as he and Fred went down the train steps toward Officer Kronsky’s cruiser. “Now we’re going to miss the field trip and everything.”

  Fred ignored the complaint. “I kind of knew it wasn’t a person. It didn’t look natural, you know.”

  “Well, I didn’t know it wasn’t a person,” said Will. “Who would do some
thing like that?”

  The minute he said it, Will remembered Little Ape and Big Ape. Will looked at Fred and knew what he was thinking.

  “Those guys who got on at Cold Spring?” said Will.

  Fred stopped on the slope of the crushed-stone siding. “This had to be it. This was the big prank.”

  “Oh man,” said Will, looking at the police cruiser. “We can tell the cops about the football-jacket guys. But if we tell them about the ape guys on the train . . .”

  “They will know it was us,” said Fred. “Especially if we have to go to court or something.”

  A car from the railroad pulled up beside the tracks. The train driver talked to someone in the passenger’s seat and then headed to the front of the train.

  “The train is going to leave in a minute,” said Will. “What do we do?”

  Now Fred looked as sick as Will had.

  Officer Kronsky, a tall woman with short black hair, stepped out of the cruiser with the Maryland state flag on the door. She waved the boys over. Standing by the hood of the car, the officer took Fred’s description of the boys running up the hill. She took Will’s version. “Hmmmm.”

  Mr. Brown dropped his bag and stood at the back of the cruiser while Officer Kronsky asked more questions.

  The train released its brakes with a blast of air and rumbled off down the tracks.

  Officer Kronsky watched the train leave. She looked at the couple of flesh-colored pieces of shattered mannequin still on the tracks and shook her head.

  “Idiots. If boys had half a brain, they would be really dangerous.”

  “What?” said Fred. Will could tell he was a little offended.

  “Boys,” said Officer Kronsky, flipping her notebook closed. “I see them doing stupid stuff every day. That poor driver thought he’d killed someone. All those people on the train are going to be late to work.”

  Officer Kronsky put her hat back on. “Boys sometimes aren’t great at thinking through consequences.”

  Fred looked at the mannequin pieces on the white crushed stone. Fred looked down the tracks where their train to the field trip had disappeared. Fred looked at Will. They both nodded.

  “Officer Kronsky,” said Fred. “We did see something else that might help.”