by R. L. Stine
I looked all around, searching frantically for a way out, and noticed a metal handrail bolted to the ceiling about six feet off the ground and running the length of the train car.
Good thing I had practiced on those monkey bars!
I jumped up on my seat. Stretching my body to its limit, I managed to grab the metal bar with both hands. Even though I’d never been able to do a single pull up in gym class, I found the strength to lift myself high enough to wrap my legs around the bar.
I held on for dear life.
Lucky for me, zombies can’t jump.
Suspended in the air, hanging upside down with both my heels crossed over the bar, I crawled monkey-like from one end of the train car to the other. Those foul-smelling zombies pawed at me from below. They yanked on my backpack, trying to pull me off, but I held on so vigorously my fingers ached and my legs throbbed.
When I reached the end of the bar, I jumped down onto a huddled mass of zombies awaiting me below. I managed to punch and kick my way out from that cluster of rotted flesh. Zombies can be quite persistent, but their undead bodies have naturally lost a lot of strength.
I pulled open the pass-through door to the next train car and leaped inside. I tried to slam the door shut, but a bunch of zombie arms, legs, and hands got in the way. No matter how hard I pulled, the door wouldn’t latch shut. The train cars were all connected, so I couldn’t step onto an outside platform and jump off.
I figured this was the end.
The zombies would overrun me for sure.
To my astonishment and great relief, those zombies wouldn’t cross from one train car into the next. I wondered if they were too brain-dead to figure out how to walk through an open door, but then it hit me. The zombie car must be their domain: It was where they lived, and they couldn’t leave no matter how badly they wanted to eat my brain.
Another thought filled me with dread:
Whose domain had I just entered?
I was relieved to see it was suddenly light outside. I guess we’d come out of a tunnel. I could see the train zooming along a familiar landscape as we barreled through Oakmont Station without slowing. I noticed the time on the station clock read 7:20 a.m., which struck me as odd. The local train always pulled into Oakmont by 7:10.
On top of everything, this train of terrors was running ten minutes behind schedule.
I checked on those zombies, making sure they stayed put, which fortunately, they did. Then I checked out this new train car. It was empty. Safe, I thought. So I zipped open my backpack and got out my phone to call my mom.
Suffice to say, cell reception on the Nightmare Express is pretty lame.
I inventoried my other supplies, thinking anything and everything might come in handy. I had my lunch box (peanut-butter-and-fluff sandwich, chips, and an apple), notebook, pencil holder, laptop, my drumsticks (I play in the school band), ruler, math textbook, the pack of chewing gum I bought at Mr. Kroger’s store, and my swim goggles.
Basically, nothing helpful whatsoever.
Somehow, some way, I had to get off this train.
There were no emergency exits, so I kicked at a window as hard as I could. It didn’t take long to realize that if I continued down this path, the only thing I’d break would be my ankle. The way out, I decided, was to get to the last car on the train, where I hoped to find an exit door.
I headed down the aisle of the empty car, grateful no zombies were chasing after me, when something seized my legs and I fell forward with a cry. Before I knew what was happening, I was upside down, or sideways, or some ways. All I knew for certain was that my feet were up in the air. The rush of blood to my head made me dizzy.
I tried to move my legs, but some ropelike substance had bound my ankles tightly together. I pulled on the rope as hard as I could, but it wouldn’t break or budge. All it did was vibrate in my hands with an audible hum. It left a sticky residue on my fingers. I had a sinking feeling that this rope wasn’t a rope at all.
I stopped struggling, and that’s when I realized something truly terrible. Upon closer examination the train car, which at first had appeared empty, was actually filled with this semitranslucent ropelike stuff going in all sorts of directions—just like a massive spiderweb.
That was when I heard the clicking sounds: a steady tap-tap-tap against the floor, like lots of legs moving all at once. I spun around while suspended upside down, trying to see whatever was headed my way, fearing I knew the answer.
I was right.
Coming at me was a massive brown spider so fearsome, so hideous that I stopped breathing. It was as big as a pony, with legs so long it couldn’t walk down the aisle without climbing over the seats. The spider’s body was covered in coarse hair the length of saplings. Its eight eyes, each the size of a dinner plate, were filled with gloating delight. A pair of hairy fangs longer than walrus tusks covered a gaping mouth that opened and closed hungrily. Gooey saliva dripped from the fangs like a waterfall.
It was breakfast time, and apparently I was the morning feast.
I had to act fast.
I pushed my legs outward, trying to break free, but the web wouldn’t budge. Desperate, I swung my body from side to side, pendulum-like, but that only spun me in a circle.
Rearing back on its spindly legs, the spider made a bubbling, hissing sound so dreadful my blood turned to ice.
It sounded very hungry.
And that was when I got my big idea.
I slid off my backpack, careful not to drop it. Holding on to the strap, I unzipped the top and fished out the peanut-butter-and-fluff sandwich from my lunch box, along with the pack of gum. The spider lunged at me as I tossed the sandwich and chewing gum into its ravenous mouth.
As soon as the creature began to chew, the peanut butter, marshmallow fluff, and gum mixed together to make its mouth unbearably sticky.
Naturally, a sticky mouth full of peanut butter, fluff, and gum would make anyone panic, including this horrible brown spider the size of a pony. It spun around wildly, probably wishing it had a big glass of milk to wash everything down. The sharp hairs on the spider’s legs and those sharp spikes on its feet came dangerously close to slicing me in two, but I swung my body away just in time.
Instead of cutting me, the spider cut the web that was holding me up, just like a knife passing through butter. I tumbled to the ground with a thud. That loosened the webbing around my ankles enough so I could pry myself free.
The angry spider ignored me as I raced down the aisle, careful to avoid more webbing as I went. Soon I had the door to the next train car open. I went through it, too scared to worry about what might await me on the other side.
Something sharp smacked against my cheek the second I set foot into the next car. Before I knew it, lots of little sharp objects were hitting my arms, legs, and face. An onslaught of something that felt like tiny needles pricked my flesh all over. I tried shielding my face with my arms, but then I couldn’t see what was attacking me.
I jumped out of the aisle, thinking to use the seat as a shield. The maneuver worked, but now I was pinned down in that location.
Poking my head up from behind the seat like a prairie dog on patrol, I saw a small army of tin soldiers no more than ten feet away. They stood in proper military formation, three abreast, going back too many rows for me to count them all. They were at least three inches high, with evil grins painted on their tin faces, and tin rifles lanced with sharp bayonets aimed right at my head. All were dressed in colorful military uniforms—red jackets with gold buckles, red hats, and blue pants.
They began to march toward me, stiffly on account of not being able to bend their arms or legs. Their aim was still pretty good. Bullets from their tin guns bounced off my face like metal raindrops.
I couldn’t hear myself think over the constant pfft-pfft-pfft sound of so many tin rifles firing all at once. Every time I lifted my head to check on their position, I got pelted with more tiny bullets.
I had to think quickly. At some poi
nt the soldiers would overrun me like those dreadful zombies. The bullets might not deliver a mortal wound, but those bayonets looked downright lethal.
I searched my backpack for something to get me out of this grim situation. Eventually, my hands brushed against the smooth wood of my drumsticks.
Maybe I could beat the soldiers back with my sticks.
Beat the soldiers. . . .
The word “beat” gave me an even better idea.
I was so scared, I wasn’t sure I could get the drumsticks out of my backpack, let alone use them. I took a deep breath and peered up from behind my cushioned seat. The soldiers continued to advance, shooting as they went. In no time those sharp bayonets would slice me to pieces.
Gripping my sticks tightly, I hit them rhythmically against the seat, tapping out a steady rat-tat-tat beat. I looked up.
To my delight the soldiers stopped advancing. Their grins had vanished. They looked suddenly quite serious. I drummed a second rhythm, another quick rat-tat-tat, again in marching time. Just as I had hoped, these soldiers snapped to attention, with their rifles now resting unthreateningly against their shoulders.
I stood up, careful to keep my marching beat going. The soldiers, being good soldiers, marched in formation back and forth from one end of the train car to the other. They paid no attention to me as I moved down the aisle. They were too focused on marching to the beat I played.
I stopped hitting my drumsticks for a second to see what would happen. Sure enough, the soldiers immediately began regrouping into an attack formation. So I kept on drumming as I walked down the aisle to the pass-through door that would lead me to the next domain.
My joy at defeating the tin soldier army was short-lived.
All the pass-through doors contained a portal window that gave me a view into the adjacent car. Peering through that window, I saw that the next car was filled—and I do mean filled—with water. It bubbled and swirled just like a big tank at an aquarium.
Just then something massive and dark swam in front of the window, blocking my view. It turned its body slowly and swam away, then turned again and swam toward me once more.
The enormous sea monster moved in big lazy circles, eyeing me hungrily with its gigantic yellow eyes. The terrible beast had the body of a squid, the tentacles of an octopus, and the mouth of a giant-sized chicken.
Laugh all you want, but if you saw a giant chicken beak, I bet you wouldn’t think it was very funny.
Bottom line: I was trapped.
My arms were getting tired playing the marching beat, but if I stopped for even a second, those tin soldiers would gore me with their lances.
I felt utterly defeated.
I would never see my mom or dad again. It appeared I was doomed to spend the rest of my life (short as that might be) riding the Nightmare Express.
As I gazed longingly out the window of the train, pining for freedom, I saw the train pass through Oakmont Station once more. Again the station clock read 7:20 a.m.—ten minutes late, same as before. The train seemed to be making an endless loop on an endless track where it would always arrive late.
Thinking this through, it made perfect sense. My own tardiness had gotten me stuck on this freaky ride.
How long had my mother known about the gypsy’s curse? It had to have been passed down from generation to generation. It was certainly why we always arrived everywhere so early, and why Nicodemus was such a popular family name. She probably never told me about it because she worried, rightly, that I’d never leave the house.
I thought of what my mother always said: Early is on time, and on time is late.
An idea struck me. What would happen if we pulled into Oakmont Station ahead of schedule? What if we arrived early? Would it, could it, break the gypsy’s curse? If I could somehow make this train go faster, I might be able to find out.
It seemed my only hope.
There was no way I could get past that sea monster, but I could backtrack to the engine car, which was just beyond the zombies’ lair.
I was about to make my move when suddenly, both my drumsticks snapped in two.
This crazy train did not want me to escape!
The tin soldiers turned on a dime and began marching my way. Their rifles lowered and those tiny bullets started flying once more. My eyes went wide with fear at the sight of their approaching bayonets.
I tried to beat a marching rhythm with my hands, but it was no good. The bullets continued to pelt me without letting up. I had so many welts on my face I must’ve looked like a guy with the world’s worst case of acne.
I was trapped between a sea monster with a chicken beak and a tin soldier army with a bad attitude. I returned to my backpack because it had helped me out before. I didn’t see anything useful in there until I picked up my swim goggles.
It was a crazy idea.
It was a brainless idea.
But it just might work.
I had to get to the train’s engine to speed it up, right?
But first I had to get rid of those tin soldiers.
And what did tin soldiers hate most?
That’s right: water.
I slipped on my swim goggles, took a big breath, and held it. Then I pulled open the door to the sea monster’s lair, expecting a rush of water to come barreling at me.
But nothing happened.
The water magically stayed in the sea monster’s domain, blocked in a gravity-defying way by some invisible force—along with that sea monster.
Evidently, the water played by the same rules as everything else and was stuck in Sea Monsterville.
In a moment of clarity I realized my plan was doomed to fail from the start. I mean, how did I expect to outswim a sea monster?
I was thinking up a plan B when I felt a tin soldier needling my side with his stupid bayonet. I picked him up and angrily tossed him into the water, just to get him out of my way.
He started to sink before my eyes when from out of nowhere the sea monster swam at him with a sudden burst of speed, snapping the soldier in half with a crunch of its massive beak. Suddenly, I heard a deep rumbling, like a dam breaking free.
I got a sinking feeling of impending doom. Tossing the tin soldier into a new domain—the sea monster’s lair—must have snapped some sort of spell. Now these creatures could move freely from train car to train car, which meant the sea monster could come after me.
Before I knew it, a wall of water exploded from the monster’s lair and hit with enough force to knock me off my feet. It wasn’t freezing water, but it wasn’t like taking a bath, either. The rushing river sent me spinning end over end, bouncing painfully from seat to seat. I got swept up in the fast-flowing current and did the only thing I could think to do.
I swam for my life.
The raging rapids bowled over the tin soldiers, like they were pins falling after a perfect strike. I managed to catch a cresting wave doing my best freestyle stroke. Behind me the sea monster chomped down hard, luckily snapping up a mouthful of a cushioned seat instead of my fast-kicking legs. I continued riding that wave, aiming my body for the open doorway to the spider’s den. I passed from one train car into the next like a speeding torpedo.
Ahead, the spider was still busily chewing on that peanut-butter-fluff-and-gum sandwich. It swiveled to check out the commotion. I swear I saw fear bubbling in its big black eyes. The water swallowed the spider whole and sent it tumbling away.
Before I knew it the water had carried me back into Zombie Land. With no place for the water to go, it quickly began to fill up the zombie car. It was obvious the zombies were terrible swimmers, and all of them would have drowned had they not already been dead.
I managed to keep my head above the fast-rising tide while the sea monster, instead of eating me, munched greedily on floating zombies and sinking tin soldiers. The spider had spun a web and was holding on for dear life.
As the water continued to rise, I took a big gulp of air and dove under. I struggled mightily to open the engine ro
om door, but with all the water pushed up against it, the door wouldn’t budge. I waited until the water had almost filled the train car completely and then took a second big breath before diving under once more.
Thanks to science class, I knew I just had to wait for water to fill up the train car so the pressure could equalize. This time, when I pulled on the engine room door, it came open.
Water flooded the engine room compartment and should have short-circuited the electronics, but somehow this train kept on rolling.
I looked for an engineer, but nobody was driving the train. I never thought I’d be glad to say that!
I pushed the lever controlling the speed as far forward as it would go. The train accelerated like a rocket ship. Water sloshed all around me as it continued to fill up the engine room.
The train kept accelerating, going faster and faster.
I waited for something to happen, but nothing did.
The curse had not been broken!
By this point the sea monster had tired of eating zombies and tin soldiers. It stuck its massive head into the engine room, snapping at me with its oversized yellow beak.
I swam to the left.
It missed me by inches.
I swam to the right.
It missed me again.
Water continued to fill the car.
I said my good-byes.
If the sea monster didn’t eat me, then soon enough I would drown.
I glanced out the window of the engine car and saw we were passing through Oakmont Station at 7:05 a.m., five minutes ahead of schedule. But the train zoomed through the station without stopping. I deflated on the spot. My big plan had failed.
The beast lunged again, but this time I was too tired to move out of the way.
My head vanished inside the monster’s open mouth.
I gazed with horror into an impenetrable darkness.
I smelled lots of chewed-up zombies.
The monster’s mouth began to close.
I braced myself for the agonizing pain to come.
And . . . and . . .
Instead of being eaten, I found myself standing on my train platform back home. Strangely, inexplicably, I was right back where I had started. It worked! Getting to Oakmont Station early had broken the gypsy’s curse!