“Wait!” I shout. “I need help. Someone get me out of here!”
The skeleton’s covered now. Dirt gets in my mouth, my eyes, my nostrils, my ears. The dial tone turns into an off-the-hook buzz, and then it becomes muffled by dirt as more of it comes piling in.
I crawl out from a heap. For just a moment, I think I’ve got a solid grip on the wall, only to realize that it’s the floor. I’m turned around, upside down, unable to see, completely in a panic.
Just then, I hear someone running. I can’t tell where it’s coming from—if it’s above or below me.
More dirt comes, weighing me down. Lying on my stomach, I struggle to turn over. But it’s like a giant pig pile with me at the bottom. I can’t move. I can hardly breathe. Please, I pray inside my head.
I don’t want to open my mouth. It’s already full of dirt. I try to move my leg, but there’s too much weight on top of my limbs. And still I feel more dirt coming down. Please, I pray some more, but I’m not sure if anyone’s listening.
The last thing I hear is the muffled laughter of the Nightmare Elf.
Giggle.
Giggle.
Giggle.
I COULD TELL THAT FRANKIE was anxious. His lip started twitching and his face lost all color. I’m feeling anxious too. I haven’t been to a cemetery since Dara died, and Frankie’s Graveyard Dig is bringing me back to that day.
I remember how people kept coming up to me: Dara’s parents, her relatives, teachers, mutual friends, those I didn’t know, faces I’d never seen before. They offered tissues, a place to sit, shoulders to cry on, someone to talk to.
“You were her one and only true friend. Please, Shayla-honey, you have my number; feel free to use it.”
“You must be devastated to have lost such a close friend. You two were like inseparable sisters.”
“Please, Shay-Shay, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Their kindness was too much to bear, but I didn’t deserve any of it, and I wanted to feel all of it—all the pain, every bit of the heartache.
What Frankie doesn’t know is that I am affected by her death. And that I do feel bad about the way things played out. My nightmares don’t need to tell me anything, because deep down I already know. Deep down I’ve always known. I wasn’t a true friend, but that didn’t mean she had to die. And it doesn’t make me responsible for her death. As guilty as I sometimes feel.
I could see Dara slipping deeper into depression, spending more of her time alone. I thought that maybe I could be friends with her in secret, when nobody else was around. But then Dara’s parents announced that they were getting a divorce and she needed me full-time. Even though my heart told me otherwise, I wouldn’t make myself available to her, except for when it was socially safe. Obviously no one at Dara’s funeral had been aware of any of that, otherwise they wouldn’t have bothered with me.
The fog in the graveyard is thick, making it impossible to keep track of Frankie. “I promise,” I call out again, hoping that he hears me.
I’d made a promise to Dara, too. Just before she transferred to my school, over hot fudge sundaes with candy canes sticking out, we made a whipped-cream-with-maraschino-cherries vow to always be there for each other, no matter what.
Parker peers through the bars. “Frankie, how’s it going?” He squints hard, trying to see through the clouds of fog.
But Frankie doesn’t answer. There’s a deep thwack sound, like something heavy hitting against a slab of wood.
“He must be inside that shed,” Ivy says.
I look around at the headstones, wondering what this ride could possibly be—maybe a mind challenge of some sort or an underground haunted house. I pull up on the lid of the mailbox, half expecting a voice to say something, but it remains silent.
Ten minutes later and I’m feeling completely restless. Natalie and Garth appear to be restless too. While she paces back and forth, Garth won’t stop squawking about his growling stomach.
“I gotta eat,” he says, finally heading off to find food.
I walk around the perimeter of the gate to where Ivy and Parker now stand, on the other side of the ride. The back of the shed is in full view. “Frankie?” I call.
A moment later, there’s a ringing sound, like someone’s phone. It’s followed by music from The Wizard of Oz. “Ding dong! The witch is dead!” Only the music isn’t coming from the graveyard.
I turn to look out into the park. Garth is at the nearby snack shack. Amusement park rides continue to bing, blink, and blare—only none of the sounds seems to match the Wizard of Oz tune.
“Where’s it coming from?” Parker asks.
Ivy takes her bag from around her shoulder and holds it up to her ear. “Here.” She squats down, dumping the entire contents of her purse onto the ground. But still there’s nothing to explain the sound.
She fishes inside an interior pocket, finally finding the source. A cell phone. With a leopard-print cover.
“It’s Taylor’s,” Ivy says. “I forgot that I shoved it in here.”
“Well, answer it.” I squat down beside her.
Ivy clicks the phone on. “Hello?” she says, switching over to speakerphone mode.
“Who is this?” a female voice asks.
“Ivy. I mean, that’s my name…Ivy…Jensen.” Ivy makes a face, realizing that she’s not exactly killing it on this call.
I hold out my hand, silently offering to take the phone from her.
But then: “How did you end up with my cell phone, Ivy?” the girl asks.
“Taylor?” Ivy’s eyes widen with alarm.
“Yes.”
“You left it,” Ivy says; her hand begins to tremble. “When you went for a walk…you left it behind, in our room. I’m your roommate for the weekend—at least, I was supposed to be.”
“Except I didn’t go for a walk, Ivy. Please tell me that you aren’t at the Dark House right now.”
“I’m not,” Ivy says, locking eyes with me. “We’re at an amusement park.”
A couple of seconds later, Garth approaches, holding a piece of fried dough. He takes a giant bite. “Shit, this crap is cold,” he says, spitting it out for the camera’s sake.
I shush him, nodding to the phone, and Parker pulls him out of earshot. Meanwhile, Ivy is on the verge of panic. Her chin quivers. There are hives all over her neck.
“Who brought you to the amusement park?” Taylor asks. “Is it part of the contest? Are you alone or are others with you?”
“Where are you?” Ivy asks. Her phone-holding hand continues to shake.
“If the park is part of the contest,” Taylor says, “then you’re in serious danger.”
“Wait, what?” Ivy’s face goes flush. Her breath starts to quicken. Her eyes widen and her face is flushed. She looks like she’s going to faint.
I grab the phone from her.
“Listen to me,” Taylor continues. “Get out—now. If it isn’t already too late. Didn’t you get my message?”
I click off the speakerphone option and stand up. “What message? The one in the closet or—”
Before I can get the latter question out, Taylor is already talking. But there’s another voice too. Maybe there’s a crossed line, or maybe Taylor isn’t alone. There’s static on the phone, making it hard to hear.
I move away, searching for the hotspot, blocking my free ear.
“Do whatever you can,” she tells me.
“Whatever I can to what?” I attempt to ask, but only part of the question goes through. The call is dropped.
“Crap!” I shout.
I start to look up the recent calls when I hear a banging sound come from the graveyard. “Frankie,” I say, my voice barely audible. I look at my watch. It’s been twenty minutes now and he still isn’t
out.
And I’ve broken yet another promise.
FRANKIE’S BEEN INSIDE HIS NIGHTMARE ride for a while, which tells me that it must be pretty decent. Meanwhile, everybody’s freaking out, including Parker, who tries to explain why I should give a shit that Taylor called her own cell phone.
“Seriously?” I ask him. “The only thing I give a shit about where Taylor’s concerned is the fact that Ivy broke the rules by smuggling Taylor’s cell phone in here. We better not be penalized for it.” I look out at the park. It’s dark out now and the glowing lights are mesmerizing.
“I think it’s high time we go look for one of those emergency phones,” Ivy says.
“Except there are no emergency phones.” Natalie blocks her ears, as if she’s concentrating on what’s being said inside that screwy head of hers. The girl is such a fake. “Harris says that the Nightmare Elf was lying about the phones.”
“I’ll go check things out.” Parker heads out into the park, donning his invisible bright red cape and superhero onesie.
“Now what?” Shayla looks down at Taylor’s cell phone, clenched in her hand.
“Now we check out the goods. Any compromising photos loaded on there?” I ask.
She glares at me, like I’m the biggest asshole ever, which comes as a major relief. I’d rather she think of me as an asshole than as someone who’s all about his feelings.
“Ever think that maybe the phone’s been rigged,” I suggest. “By the mastermind himself. My money’s on Taylor’s nonexistence. I’ll bet she’s not even real—just a bogus hoax to get us all worked up.”
“But I met her,” Natalie says. “We were on the same flight. We rode in the same car. She talked to me.”
“Sure, Scarecrow. Just like your dead brother talks to you too. Nice look, by the way,” I say, referring to her hood, scarf, and sunglasses. “Do you really think this crazy act of yours is going to score you more attention from Blake?”
“I’m not looking for extra attention,” she says. “If I could, I’d hide from everyone.”
“Well, I really wish you would,” I tell her.
“Back off,” Ivy says, shooting me a dirty look. Happily, I’ve made another fan.
“Don’t be surprised if the phone miraculously starts working again,” I say. “If so-called Taylor happens to call us back at some opportune time. Remember in Nightmare Elf IV when Eureka’s walkie-talkie only seemed to work when she was alone? It was all so plotted.”
“Oh, and PS,” Shayla says. “Frankie still isn’t out yet, and it’s been thirty minutes since he entered the graveyard.”
“Which means that Blake didn’t cheap out on the rides,” I say. “Frankie must be getting his money’s worth, so to speak.”
Shayla shakes her head at me—the same way my father does when he’s looking at me like I’m dirt, which is pretty much a daily occurrence.
“If you wanted Mary Poppins, then you picked the wrong contest,” I tell them. “You came here to be scared, remember? You do something stupid—like using the emergency phone to bring the hearse back—and you risk ruining this whole thing.”
“I think I’ll take my chances,” Ivy says.
While she and Shayla head off to the supposed hotspot, and Natalie takes a seat on the ground, engaged in a full-on conversation with herself, I look back at the graveyard, jealous that Frankie gets all the fun.
SHAYLA AND I SIT ON THE GROUND, trying to get Taylor’s phone to work.
“There’s still no reception,” Shayla says, “which is totally BS. I mean, you were right here when it rang.” She holds the phone up to see if that might help, and then removes the battery and snaps it back into place two seconds later. “The phone itself is working fine.”
“Well, maybe Garth was right. Maybe the phone’s been rigged.”
“The last call received was from the nine-five-two area code,” she says, looking at the phone screen.
“Is that near here?” I ask.
“Do I look like a walking Google search box? Maybe there’s some clue in her pics.”
I gaze over Shayla’s shoulder as she searches Taylor’s photo album. The same girl keeps appearing in each of the pictures, and so I assume that it’s her. Taylor is really cute, with tousled blond hair like she just came from the beach, bright blue eyes, and delicate features. There are photos of her performing in plays, making goofy faces at the camera, and dancing at various recitals.
“I have to assume that she saw something at the Dark House,” I say, “something that really freaked her out, because she left so abruptly, mid-unpacking, not even with her cell phone.”
“So, you don’t really think the phone’s been rigged.”
“All I know is that I wasn’t even going to bring the cell phone with me,” I tell her. “I’d slipped it into my bag, thinking that we might meet up with Taylor at some point. But the organizers didn’t know that—that I’d bring it with me, that is; that I’d forget it was in my bag when we were depositing all our cell phones at the gate. They didn’t even know that I’d find the phone to begin with—that I’d just happen to lie back on Taylor’s bed and brush my hand against the covers in the right way. Don’t you think that if they’d wanted us to find her phone, it would’ve been planted in a more obvious way?”
Shayla looks at her watch. “It’s been forty minutes for Frankie.” She tosses me the phone and then moves back over to the gate. “One of us needs to go in there,” she says.
“‘Not I,’ said the fly,” Garth says, between bites of sourdough pretzel.
“I don’t want to go either,” Natalie says, pausing from mumbling to herself.
“Then I’ll go,” Shayla says. “Somebody give me a lift.”
“And what about the movie?” Garth asks her. “Or meeting Justin Blake?”
“I know.” She nods. “But I promised Frankie that after fifteen minutes if he still hadn’t come out, I’d go looking for him.”
“Looks like you’re twenty-five minutes late. So, why not make it an hour?” Garth laughs.
For once, Shayla doesn’t laugh along with him. “I need to go in there,” she insists.
“For all we know, Frankie’s ride is already over,” Garth says. “If he went underground, the exit could be anywhere—at any part of the park.”
I look out at the park. A movie plays in the distance. A guy wearing a clown mask appears on the screen. He’s got a girl cornered. It’s nighttime and raining out. The girl melts down against a wall, begging him not to hurt her. But he sticks his knife in anyway. Her eyes bug open in shock, and then go completely vacant as her body falls limp.
Is that how my parents looked too?
“You’re totally blowing it,” Garth says, talking to Shayla’s back.
Standing on two milk crates, she’s climbed the graveyard gate and has her foot propped up on the top rung. She teeters there, trying to keep her balance.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask her.
“More than sure.” She jumps over. Her feet hit the ground with a thud, releasing a dusting of dirt into the air. She heads straight for the shed.
“That’s it,” Garth declares. “I’m done.”
“With what?” I ask.
“With all of you, wasting our time, breaking the rules, and screwing everything up.”
The fog machine has kicked into gear, shrouding Shayla’s torso and feet, making her appear even farther away. “It’s just hard to know what to believe,” I tell him. “What’s real versus what’s screwing with our minds.”
“That’s the beauty of Justin Blake’s work. And this is the chance of a lifetime. I don’t know about any of you, but opportunities like this don’t normally happen in my world. In my world, all anyone ever expects is failure. But Justin Blake sees more to me than that, so I’m no
t going to disappoint him.”
I bite my lip, able to hear the angst in his voice. I can tell he really wants this. But what I want is to go home. I look back out at Shayla. She’s standing just outside the shed, but I can barely even see her.
“Harris says it’s too late for her,” Natalie mutters, peeking through the bars. “He says it doesn’t even matter if she turns back now, because she already broke the rules.”
“And what does he think that means?” I ask, still on the fence about her sanity.
“Twenty-six,” she says, confidence in her voice. “Twelve rectangles, four ovals, seven crosses, and three squares.”
“Excuse me?” I ask her.
Tears drip from the corners of her eyes, mixing with her thick black liner and making track marks down her cheeks. “Harris says there will soon be twenty-eight. And then thirty. And probably more. And probably more rectangles. All of them with roses. Except for two that have been freshly dug out.”
“Okay, you’re not making any sense.”
“No!” she shouts, but she isn’t talking to me. She covers over her ears, as if lost inside her head. “That isn’t true,” she continues. “Don’t say those things; it’s all just lies.”
“This whole Harris act is getting old.” Garth yawns. “And so is all the bullshit drama. I’m out of here.”
“Where are you going?” I ask.
The graveyard looks eerily vacant now. The fog machine has stopped again. A few residual clouds hover around the bed and dresser, but there’s no sign of Frankie or Shayla. And Parker still isn’t back yet.
“You’re a smart girl. You can figure it out.” And with that, Garth turns on his heel, leaving us in the dust.
FADE IN:
EXT. AMUSEMENT PARK—NIGHT
ANGLE ON ME
I pass by a row of carnival games. It’s dark. The park looks nearly vacant. The blinking game lights, coupled with their binging-ringing sound effects, permeate the stillness. I’m about halfway around the entrance gate and still haven’t been able to find a phone, which is really sort of ridiculous considering that they’ve supposedly been placed for emergency purposes.
Welcome to the Dark House Page 14