by R. L. Stine
“De la Vega’s haunted mirror last year was better,” he sniffed.
Peeling away from the group, Tally slipped into a narrow corridor between the curtain and the wall, and ran ahead. She fit a skeleton mask onto her head, and when the group passed by, she pressed her face and hands into the spandex that was stretched over a wooden frame. At her gurgling death rattle, Tally heard kids shriek and scramble backward.
Not bad, she thought, but wait till they get a load of our final trick.
She rejoined the group as Gabe was seating their visitors on the crinkly, red-spattered painter tarp. As Tally lit the candles, her brother poured the dark green potion into a saucer. The flickering flames turned the boar’s head demonic.
“Raw Head and Bloody Bones is one of the most fearsome creatures ever,” said Gabriel. “To call forth this monster, we chant its name over and over, until its image appears in this saucer.”
The neighborhood kids exchanged nervous glances, unsure how the twins would pull off this trick. But soon enough, they joined Gabe and Tally in chanting, “Raw Head and Bloody Bones! Raw Head and Bloody Bones! Raw Head and Bloody Bones!”
The chant continued, and a gust made the candles flicker. Good, thought Tally. That means Josh has joined us.
And suddenly, an image did appear in the liquid—a hideous, tusked boar’s head atop a blood-spattered human skeleton. The kids gasped. Great effects, thought Gabe. I can’t believe we got this for free. He shouted, “Raw Head and Bloody Bones, get up and dance!”
At this, a bolt of blue lightning shot from the saucer and out the side door.
Tally gaped. That was a seriously cool trick. And to think they’d gotten it from a dusty old store. Who knew?
For what seemed like forever, nothing happened. Gabe’s nerves stretched tighter than a trip wire, and Tally wondered if Josh had forgotten his cue. She glanced around. A few of the visitors chuckled uncertainly.
“Nice try,” said Madison. “I actually—”
But just then, a creature emerged from behind the curtain. Everyone screamed and scooted away. It looked just like the image in the saucer—a boar’s head with wild red eyes atop a bloody skeletal body with hands ending in bear claws.
As the monster loomed over the group, Tally had time to think, I never realized Josh was so tall. Then Raw Head and Bloody Bones boomed, “Who has summoned me?”
That did it. With ear-piercing shrieks, the neighbor kids fled down the curtained corridors and out the door into the twilight. Tally and Gabe whooped, leaned over, and gave each other a high-five.
“Ha!” said Tally. “Take that, Luis!”
“In your face, de la Vega!” crowed her brother.
They turned to the costumed creature, which still stood, larger than life. “Who has summoned me?” its creepy voice repeated.
“You can drop the act now,” said Gabe. “Great job on the costume, dude. Outstanding!”
Her muted cell phone buzzed in Tally’s pocket. When she fished it out, a text message from Josh read: Running late. Sorry! B there in 5!
Tally’s stunned gaze went from the phone to the monster. She tried to swallow, but her throat was as dry as mummy dust.
Once more, Raw Head and Bloody Bones growled, “Who has summoned me?”
“We did, Josh,” said Gabriel. “Duh.”
Holding the text message up to her twin’s unbelieving gaze, Tally said, “That’s not Josh.” Gabe’s jaw dropped.
“You have brought me through,” said Raw Head and Bloody Bones. “Have I done your bidding?”
“Y-yes,” Tally managed.
“Very well,” said the creature. “Now you must pay the price.”
“H-how much do you want?” Tally dug a fistful of quarters from her pocket.
“Keep your silver,” rumbled the monster. Its piggy eyes glinted red. “Only blood will pay for blood.” With a snarl, it lifted its clawed hands high.
And once more, screams pierced the suburban night.
Bricks and Bones
by Emmy Laybourne
“SCREEEEE!” THE FRONT TRUCK OF my skateboard shrieks as I slide crooked down the railing in front of the old bottle factory.
“Sick landing, dude,” my friend Ben calls. He comes down right after me, his board flying over the cement stairs.
We’ve been coming to the McCrary Bottle Works for years; it’s the best place to street skate in all of Fredericksburg. It’s got huge, wide front steps made of stone, with perfect metal pipe handrails. The ground out front is flat cement, and inside it’s completely empty—just huge rooms with nothing but dead leaves and scattered trash from teenagers hanging out. Some of the walls are crumbling apart, but it just makes it more cool when you do a wall plant and bricks come crashing down!
Except a few weeks ago they put up a huge chain-link fence around the whole place, so now the only time we can come is on the weekend, because it’s crawling with construction workers during the week. They’re going to tear it down tomorrow, so this is our last ride. They’re building a Greenway here—like our town needs another stupid superstore.
“Nice!” I tell Ben, even though his landing was a little shaky. But just as I go to high-five him, two beefy hands grab me from behind.
“What are you kids doing here?” growls a mean voice. Ben backs away, his eyes wide. The hands spin me around.
The guy holding me is a real brute—a huge bald construction worker with black hairs sprouting from his eyebrows and ears.
“You kids ain’t allowed to be here!” he snarls.
“W-w-we were just going,” Ben stammers.
The construction worker lets go, and I stumble forward. I kick my board up and grab it.
Another construction guy walks up. “This place is off-limits,” he says. This guy is muscular and blond, with close-set eyes. “What, you kids can’t read? It’s set to blow tomorrow.”
“We know,” I say with a shrug. “But we’ve been coming here for years.”
“We didn’t think there would be anyone here on a Sunday,” Ben says.
The bald one grabs Ben by the shoulder.
“Don’t talk back, kid. You shouldn’t be here, and you know it! Now beat it and don’t come back,” he growls. “Or else me and Mandry’ll break your skateboards over your heads!”
“All right, all right,” Ben mutters.
“Come on,” I tell him.
I throw my board down, and we both ride away.
“Don’t come back!” the bald one yells.
“You okay, Jamal?” Ben asks as we point our decks for home. I’m rubbing a sore spot on my arm from where the guy named Mandry grabbed me.
“Yeah,” I say. “But they ruined our last ride.”
“We should go back tonight!” Ben says. “We can skate it in the dark! It’ll be awesome.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Those worker guys kind of freaked me out.”
“Why’d they have to be such jerks?” Ben wonders.
“It seemed like they were trying to scare us off,” I say.
“Well, they won’t be there after dark. We should totally go back,” Ben persists. “Come on, Jamal! It’ll be epic!”
“Maybe,” I say. Ben’s always trying to talk me into skating in crazy places, but mostly we just skate the bottle factory.
“I’ll come for you at one o’clock,” he says.
I shrug and head into my house. Ben talks big, but he rarely follows through on his “epic” ideas. I figure the chances of him coming to get me are pretty slim.
Which is why I’m totally shocked when, just after one a.m., I hear something heavy land on the floor in my room. I’d left the window open like I always do.
I turn on the light, and there’s a brick on the floor. It’s strangely cold, like it was in a freezer or something.
I’d recognize it anywhere—it’s a brick from the factory. Ben must have pried it out from one of the walls at some point.
I wipe the sleep out of my eyes and scrub my hand o
ver my flattop while staring at the brick. I pick it up and turn it over in my hand. I really am going to miss the factory.
Ben’s right. We gotta have it to ourselves one last time.
I shrug on my hoodie and grab my board. My heart pounds as I creep out into the hallway and down the stairs. Both my parents snore—don’t tell them I told you—so I’m confident they have no idea I’m sneaking out. Besides, this is the first time I’ve ever done it. I’m nervous. But it’s not like anything’s going to go wrong. We’ve ridden the factory hundreds of times.
I don’t see Ben in the street. After a few minutes of whispering his name, I head toward the factory. Seems a little weird, but I guess he got impatient and went ahead.
I roll up to the factory, right outside the gap in the fence Ben and I discovered. The factory is completely dark. It looks really different in the nighttime. The ledges look like frowning eyebrows, and the empty windows stare at me like the eyes of a dead man, blank and cold.
“Ben?” I call. “Where are you?”
This is so messed up! Why would he call me out and disappear like this? I’m really mad. I turn around to head home, but then I hear a WAIL. My head whips around. There it is again: a thin, muffled cry. It’s coming from inside the factory.
“Ben!” I shout. I wriggle through the gap in the fence, pulling my board last. I race down the hill and then hurtle up the steps. I open the creaky front door. “Where are you?”
I hear the wail again. From inside the building it sounds softer and more hazy. I throw down my deck and skate toward the sound. The cry comes again. I go into the maze of small rooms and hallways at the back of the building. The closer I get, the less it sounds like a kid and the more it sounds like . . . the wind. Oh brother.
I pull into a small room toward the back of the building, and when the wind blows again, I see a broken window. It makes a soft shrieking sound that rises, then dies down. Yup. It was the wind!
Ben isn’t here. He must have thrown the brick into my room as some kind of lame joke. But since I’m here, I might as well skate a bit. I skate back into the main room and kickflip up to plant the board squarely on the wall. Perfect!
I land, and then my chest suddenly goes cold! It’s like someone threw a bucket of ice water into my rib cage. I gasp and splutter, falling onto my back.
That’s when I see him.
A ghost. Standing right in front of me near the wall. A ghost kid! He’s standing there, hands up, pleading. He’s transparent, all gray and white, and wearing old-fashioned clothes. I must have ridden right through him!
I scramble backward. My heart is in my throat! I’m so scared I feel like my chest is going to explode.
I back even farther away, shocked into silence. I have to get out of here!
I jump to my feet and grab my board. The ghost tries to stop me. He’s screaming something, but there’s no sound.
I ride as fast as I can toward the exit. I dodge in and out of the halls and doorways. I know the factory like the back of my hand, but every time I come around a turn, there’s the ghost, coming right through the wall. Cold sweat pours over my body. I’m so scared my feet feel numb.
Then I hit a few loose bricks, and I fly through the air, tumbling. I hit the floor hard. The breath is knocked out of me. I’m gasping, backing away from the ghost boy, who is coming toward me on his hands and knees. His face looks desperate, hungry almost.
I close my eyes and wait for him to attack.
Nothing happens.
When I open my eyes to peek, I see that the ghost is kneeling in front of me. His hands are clasped together, like he’s begging.
I draw a breath.
The ghost boy stays there, begging me for something.
“Wh-wh-who are you?” I stammer. He looks up. “What do you want?”
The ghost, um, smiles at me. My heart calms down enough for me to take another breath. He seems to be just my age. He’s a white kid with big eyes, and he seems kind of shy, somehow. He’s wearing a tank top and tweedy, baggy shorts held up with suspenders. He’s got on leather shoes that are a little too big for him.
It’s weird; he looks like he just stopped doing some kind of job. His face and hands are smudged and dirty, and his dark hair is plastered to his head by sweat.
He pops up and beckons for me to follow him. He keeps looking back at me and smiling, urging me on.
I grab my board and let him lead the way. He leaves all the small rooms behind, and heads for the back corner of the building. I know just where he’s leading me—to the basement!
“No way!” I protest. “I am not going down there!”
Ben dared me to go down there once. I didn’t do it then, and I’m not going to now. At night. With a ghost at my side!
“Basements aren’t my thing,” I tell the ghost kid as he leads me toward the staircase. “Like, really, really not my thing!”
He clasps his hands together again, like he’s begging.
“Sorry, kid,” I say.
Just then I hear a sound from the front room. The familiar creak as the front door opens.
“I’m telling you, Mandry, there’s no secret vault! This is a waste of time,” says a voice.
No! It’s the mean construction workers! Panic rises in my throat. If they catch me here alone, I’m in serious trouble.
“You got a better thing to do?” says Mandry. “There’s a bag of cash here somewhere, and we’re gonna find it if we have to stay up all night!”
The ghost sees how freaked out I am. Now, more urgent than before, he motions for me to follow him down the stairs.
I gulp. I grit my teeth. I follow.
We hurtle down the stairs and into the darkness of the basement.
Down here, all sound is muffled by the dirt floors and the thick brick walls. I can barely see in the dim moonlight filtering through a small window near the ceiling. Pipes and machine parts are strewn throughout the space. A thick layer of dust covers everything.
The ghost boy darts ahead of me, cutting through the machinery. I set my skateboard against the wall near the staircase and follow, ducking and dodging my way after him. I’m getting really dirty from all the cobwebs and dust.
The ghost heads for the back corner of the factory. He’s super impatient, and keeps waving at me to hurry up.
“Okay, okay,” I huff. “Chill, man.”
He puts his hand on my wrist to drag me along, and I nearly shriek. It’s like my wrist is plunged into ice water! Ugh!
“Don’t do that!” I say. “Every time you touch me I get an ice bath!”
He shrugs, Sorry. And motions for me to hurry up.
Finally, we reach the very far corner of the basement. Cobwebs are draped over the walls, but the only thing they’ve been catching all these years is a serious amount of dust. The ghost points to the floor.
“What?” I say to the ghost. “What am I looking at?”
He points again. There’s nothing there—just bare earth, pressed down hard.
“Nice floor, but look, I gotta get home,” I say. “If those construction guys catch me here, I’m dead meat.”
The ghost shakes his head. He paces for a moment, wild with frustration. Then he gets to his knees and mimes digging in the dirt.
“There’s something buried?”
He nods. Then he mimes picking something up. Like a suitcase. Then he pretends to dig again.
“Look, I don’t have, like, a shovel, man! I gotta go . . .”
Suddenly I get it: the bag of money! There’s money buried under the floor, and for whatever reason, this ghost kid wants me to have it.
“The bag of money. You don’t want those construction guys to find it, do you?”
The ghost kid lets me know that’s exactly right.
“Okay,” I say. “All right. Time to get digging!”
Could we use the money? Yeah—who can’t use some free money? My mom got laid off from her job teaching art at the elementary school last fall. She and Dad say ev
erything’s going to be fine, but I can see my folks have been cutting a lot of corners. Last week we had macaroni and cheese for dinner. Twice. And my dad’s been looking really tight around the mouth lately. Stressed. A bag of money would help a lot.
The ground is way too hard for me to use my hands, so I start feeling around in the dark to find some kind of tool. I’m crawling around on my hands and knees, reaching out in the dim basement. Ugh! I just pray there’s no rats down here. . . .
I finally find a length of hollow pipe. If I bang it on the ground, it makes a dent in the pressed dirt. I start whaling on the floor. It works! Bigger and bigger chunks break apart.
I feel a freezing touch on my shoulder. “Don’t touch me!” I hiss at the ghost. He puts his hands up, like he’s saying sorry. Then he points to himself and then points upstairs.
“You’re going to go keep an eye on the construction guys?” I ask.
The ghost nods his head off. I gotta say, he’s pretty useful, for a ghost. He swooshes away.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! I keep working on breaking up the floor. It takes a while. I start to sweat as I get the hang of it. Suddenly there’s a clang, and the pipe kicks back a little. It hit some kind of metal. The ghost kid is at my side in a flash.
“They coming?” I ask. He shakes his head. He points down at the floor, grinning. I guess he just wanted to see me find the money!
After a couple more hits with the pipe, I see there’s a small, iron trapdoor in the floor. Really small. Just a little bigger than an AC vent. Just big enough for a kid to get into. A kid like me. Did I mention I’m a bit on the skinny side?
The ghost kid rubs his hands together with glee.
“I have to go down there to get the bag, don’t I?” I ask. He nods. I sigh.
I stick my fingers into the holes of the grate and pull hard. It doesn’t budge. It’s too stuck. I grab the pipe and bang off some more dirt from the corners. The ghost kid is urging me on, all the time.
I stick my fingers through again and pull as hard as I can, sitting back all the way. “Aaargh!” I say. Just then it gives way, and I fall back.