by Pat Hancock
The snickers came first, followed by giggles. Then Tony blurted out, “Right on!” and the clapping started.
His face twisted with rage, Damien swung around to face the class. His mouth moved, but no words came out. He lurched forward and headed down the aisle. Raffi stepped aside to let him pass. The slamming of the door echoed off the walls, then the room went quiet.
Like a spring that’s wound too tight, then released, Raffi suddenly felt weak. His legs went slack and he slumped into his seat, blushing slightly. How, he thought, am I ever going to explain this?
As if reading his mind, Mrs. Mullen called the class to order, adding, “Let’s give Raffi some time to unwind. We’ll talk about this later.”
Raffi grinned his thanks. He had no idea what he was going to say when everyone started asking questions, but at least he’d have time to think about it. And since he was thinking for himself again, he figured he might come up with some pretty good answers.
NIGHT GAMES
Luke had never stayed home alone at night. And convincing his mom that he was old enough to look after himself for a few hours took some doing.
“I don’t like to leave you by yourself way out here. I wish Stephanie were here,” she sighed.
“Well, Stephanie’s at college now, Mom. She can’t just zip home and stay with me. Besides, I’d rather stay alone. Stephanie used to scare me to death. The minute you guys walked out the door, she’d start in about the hideous, slime-covered monsters in the basement.”
“She didn’t!”
“She did. And that’s not all. She’d drag up every scary story she could think of and tell me all the gory details. I’m better off alone. Right, Dad?” Luke appealed to his father.
“Well, we won’t be that far away, so I suppose …”
Luke grabbed the opening. “See, Mom. Dad thinks I’ll be fine, too.”
Luke eventually succeeded in wearing her down. But when it was time to go, it took her five minutes to run through a list of what-to-do-ifs …
Then she started on the next list. “Now remember, the nachos are in the cupboard over the stove and …”
“Mom, I live here, remember?”
“All right,” she laughed. “Now, you’re sure you remember where I wrote down the phone number you can reach us at?”
“Yes, Mom. It’s stuck to the fridge door.”
“And one last thing. No one comes over, right?”
“Are you kidding? The action starts as soon as you leave. I told everybody to come over for a plate-breaking party. Which should we start with — the good dishes or the everyday ones?”
“I suppose you think that’s funny?” Mom asked, trying to keep a straight face.
“Dad, take her away, please.”
His dad obliged and Luke locked the door behind them. Then he let out a whoop, dashed into the living room and dove onto the couch. With no one around to complain, he channel-surfed for nearly an hour.
When he couldn’t find anything he wanted to watch at 8:30, he headed for the kitchen. Popcorn, chips or nachos, or maybe even all of them? he asked himself. This is great, he gloated, trying to make up his mind.
He settled on nachos, but not just any old chips straight from the bag. He opened the fridge and got out the cheese, a tomato, two green onions and the salsa. Then he scoured the shelves until he came up with a tin of colossal-sized black olives.
These are going to be amazing, he thought. He was drooling as he chopped, sliced and grated. When the plate was heaped to overflowing, he popped it into the microwave, set the timer to three minutes, and stood back to watch.
He was back in front of the television by 8:59, nachos on his lap. As the opening credits for Young Samurai started to roll, he felt on top of the world. This staying alone is a piece of cake, he thought. But seconds later, he was on his feet.
The noise — a scratching, tapping sound — had come from the basement. Luke moved quietly into the hall and stood at the top of the stairs, listening. There it is again, he thought.
His stomach tightened. Visions of Stephanie’s slimy monsters sprang into his head.
Maybe I should call the police, he thought. But what if they don’t find anything? I’ll feel like a jerk — and, for sure, I’ll end up having babysitters till I’m twenty.
So what do I do? Do I stay up here, scared out of my mind, or do I go down and find out what it is?
Luke made a decision. “All right,” he shouted. “I’m coming down.”
He flicked on the light and stomped noisily down the rickety wooden stairs. In the stark glare of the single, naked bulb, the trunks and stacks of boxes cast eerie shadows on the dank stone walls. But that’s all Luke saw. Just shadows.
Then his heart stopped. He heard the scratching again, coming from the window. Slowly, he turned toward the sound, fearful of what he’d see.
Holding his breath, he inched closer to the window and peered into the darkness. When he spotted the branch, it wasn’t touching the glass. Then it swayed in the wind and scraped against the pane before bouncing back and away.
Luke let out his breath noisily. The lilac bush. Feeling foolish, he headed back upstairs. But he nearly jumped out of his skin when the telephone shrilled right beside him in the hall.
He grabbed the receiver on the second ring. “Hello.”
Silence.
“Hello?”
More silence.
“Hey, is anybody there?”
Still more silence.
Luke shrugged as he hung up, then headed back into the living room. But he’d no sooner stuffed a warm chip into his mouth than the phone rang again.
Jumping up, he knocked over the half full can of pop on the table beside him. With one hand, he grabbed the can and righted it. With the other, he slapped a pile of paper napkins on the spill. Then he dashed back into the hall, shouting, “I’m coming. I’m coming.”
He got to it on the sixth ring.
“Hello.”
Silence.
“Who is this?” he shouted.
More silence.
“Hey, this isn’t funny,” he yelled, his voice cracking. Still more silence.
“Stop it, jerk,” he screamed directly into the receiver, then slammed it down.
As he did, he remembered one of Stephanie’s horror stories — about the babysitter who kept getting phone calls. When she answered, a deep, scary voice said only, “I’m coming to get you.” Terrified, she called the police. When they traced the call, they discovered it was coming from another line in the house. The thing on the other end of the line was upstairs all the time.
Luke looked up the stairs, then shook his head. “Thanks a lot, Stephanie,” he muttered. “You’re nowhere near here and you’re still scaring me to death.”
Anyway, we don’t have a separate line upstairs. Stop being an idiot, he told himself. It’s probably just one of my so-called friends.
That’s it. He felt better. The phone calls suddenly made sense.
Ryan had called earlier that afternoon to invite him over after dinner to watch a movie with him and Chris and Sanjay. He’d been tempted, but the thought of staying alone for the first time had won out. Besides, he wasn’t all that crazy about Chris.
So he told Ryan he couldn’t because his folks were going out and wouldn’t be around to drive him home.
Telling Ryan this had obviously been a big mistake. Ryan must have told Sanjay and Chris why he hadn’t joined them.
He could imagine the scene at the other end of the line — Chris dialing, and the other two smothering their laughter as he screamed, “Who’s there?” He was guilty of making a few crank calls himself, so he knew that it could be fun. But not if you were on the receiving end. He’d learned that much tonight.
Still, now that he knew who was calling, he wasn’t nervous anymore. He decided to turn the tables on the pranksters. He opened the junk drawer and dug out his sister’s old lifeguard’s whistle. Then he sat by the phone and waited, ready to answ
er their ring with one of his own.
He waited and waited. Nothing. Finally, he headed back to the living room to rescue his abandoned nachos. As he picked up the plate, he froze. He was sure he heard the scraping sound again, only this time it was coming from the kitchen. He moved quietly into the hall and listened. Nothing. He waited for what seemed like an eternity. Still nothing.
Stephanie, this is all your fault, he thought as he walked into the kitchen to pop the nachos back into the microwave for a quick warm-up. He saw the face just as he was pulling the plate out again.
Red eyes smouldering and long, sharp fangs bared in a horrible grimace, it was peering in the window. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.
Nothing Stephanie had invented could have prepared him for this. Luke opened his mouth and screamed — and nearly dropped the plate. As he tried to juggle it, runny cheese and hot salsa splattered his hands. He dumped the plate on the counter and frantically wiped the burning splashes on his jeans.
He didn’t want to, but he knew he had to look back at the window. All he saw was his own terrified face reflected in the dark glass.
Okay, okay, calm down, he urged himself. There was probably nothing there in the first place. It was my own reflection all along. But I don’t look that bad. Nobody looks that bad, unless they’re wearing a really gross mask.
Mask. That’s it, he convinced himself. It was a mask, and I bet I know who was behind it. No wonder those guys never called back. How could they, if they were on their way over here to scare me again?
This is Chris’s dirty work, he thought. And he’ll love telling everybody at school how I nearly wet my pants when I saw that mask. Boy, am I done for.
Suddenly, the scratching started again. It was coming from the living room.
Luke tiptoed out of the kitchen and down the hall. Tap, tap, tap. He reached around the doorway to switch off the living-room light. The television filled the room with an eerie glow, but Luke wasn’t afraid this time. He knew who was at the window and he intended to pay them back.
Tap, tap, scratch, scratch. The noise continued, louder now. It sounded like they were trying to get in. Stealthily, Luke slipped past the couch and around the coffee table. Then, very carefully, he moved over to the drapes covering the big double windows.
The sounds were coming from the window on the right. Slowly, Luke slipped his hand between the drapes and quietly released the lock. Then he carefully pulled back his hand and pressed himself against the wall. He opened the drapes a crack, then held his breath and waited.
It was very dark outside. He could barely make out the shadow slinking toward the window, but he couldn’t miss the movement. He waited. The window inched open, then a dark shape reached under the frame and began to push upward.
At that moment, Luke struck. Throwing open the drape, he slammed the window down. He heard a terrible shriek, followed by a strangled whimper.
Horrified, Luke stepped back and let the drape fall into place. Oh no, he thought. What have I done? What if I broke his hand?
Frightened and confused, he backed away, waiting for Chris, Sanjay and Ryan to start yelling at him. But all he heard was more whimpering and a muffled scratching sound.
The ringing of the telephone shattered the silence. Hoping it was Mom or Dad, Luke dashed to answer. His hand shook as he picked up the receiver.
“Hello,” he croaked.
“Hey, Luke. Listen, I’m sorry about the phone calls.”
“Ryan? Is that you?”
“Yeah. Listen, it was Chris’s idea, okay?”
“Ryan … where are you now?”
“I’m at home. Where do you think I am?”
“But Chris and Sanjay are gone, right?”
“Nah, they’re downstairs. I just came up to get some more chips and I thought I’d let you know it was us, just in case you hadn’t figured it out yet. Listen. I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Wait, Ryan, don’t hang up,” Luke whispered hoarsely, but he was too late. The line was dead.
Slowly, he replaced the receiver. Then he turned and stared wide-eyed into the shadows of the living room. Weak with fear, he slumped against the post at the bottom of the stairs.
Stay calm, he ordered, but his body wasn’t listening. His heart felt like a jackhammer and the blood pounded in his head. Stop it. Stop it, he commanded. Calm down and call Mom and Dad.
He reached for the phone, then froze. The number was stuck on the fridge. And the living-room window was still unlocked. His skin turned to gooseflesh. Whatever was out there might get in while he was in the kitchen.
Terrified, Luke put down the receiver and looked around for a weapon. His baseball bat was leaning against the wall. Gripping it in both hands, he stepped into the living room and moved quickly to the window. Summoning his last ounce of courage, he yanked the drapes open and jumped back, ready to lash out with the bat.
Seeing nothing, he banged the lock back into place. With a sigh of relief, he reached over to draw the drapes again. As he did, his hand brushed something wet and slimy.
Recoiling, Luke dropped the bat and staggered into the hall. He held up his hand. Green slime dripped down his arm.
Luke’s knees turned to jelly and he collapsed in a heap on the floor.
That’s where his parents found him ten minutes later, still wiping his hand on his jeans and muttering, “This is your fault, Stephanie. Your fault. No fair.”
SPELLBOUND
When the old car pulling a battered silver trailer chugged slowly up the long hill to the Oakley house that day in mid-October, it took about five minutes for the news to get around town. The rundown house had been empty for so long that everyone said it was haunted. Now, the whole town was curious to know who on earth would move in — and why.
Joey Dean and Mario Spinelli took it upon themselves to be the first to find out. Quietly, the two boys worked their way up the rutted lane. Crouching low behind the overgrown bushes that were threatening to take over the weed-choked yard, they stole to the rear of the house and hid beside a ramshackle shed.
From there, they had a clear view of the trailer and the weather-beaten porch that clung precariously to the back of the house. Undetected, they watched the comings and goings of three people — a man, a woman, and a girl — as they shifted boxes, bags and a few suitcases into the house.
“So, they really are moving in,” Joey whispered. “But who’d want to live here?”
“Yeah, this place gives me the major creeps,” Mario whispered back. “And so do they, right?” he added.
Joey looked at the strangers. They were standing on the porch, gazing out across the hill at the deep rose and purple of a darkening autumn sky. The girl, her face eerily pale in the fading light, was wearing a long black skirt sprinkled with yellow stars. The woman had on a colourful poncho and the man’s shoulder-length hair hung down from under a black hat with a wide, bent brim.
Joey shrugged. Mario was right. They did look a little strange. “Well, they’re … different,” he said noncommittally.
“The guy’s got long hair. My dad says that’s how you can spot weirdos a mile away. And look at that skirt. They must be related to the Addams family.” Mario giggled at his own joke.
Suddenly, the girl called out, “Hey, Dad. Look.”
“It’s a bit late in the year for that fellow to be out,” the man said, as the girl picked up what looked like a twisting, dancing piece of rope. “He must have found a warm spot here under the steps.”
“See that?” Mario hissed, and elbowed Joey in the ribs. “They like snakes. For sure, they’re going to …”
He stopped in mid-sentence, interrupted by a rustling in the bushes behind them. Startled, the two boys turned. When the black-and-white shape emerged, Mario bolted.
As his friend crashed noisily through the undergrowth, Joey heard the man call out, “Who’s there?”
Joey hesitated just long enough to see the skunk’s tail shoot up like a
flag, then he took off after Mario.
He caught up with him at the bottom of the hill.
“That was close,” Mario panted. “It nearly got us.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have done anything if you’d just stayed still,” Joey protested.
“Says who?” Mario snarled.
Says me, Joey thought, but he knew better than to argue with Mario. Mario was a pretty good friend — as long as he got his own way. Worried that he might have already crossed the line, Joey fell in behind him without saying another word.
They were both out of breath when they reached the Burger Barn, but that didn’t stop Mario. He gasped dramatically as he burst through the doors, staggering and clutching his chest as if he’d just outraced a slavering wolf.
“What’s with you?” Paula Stroud called.
That was the only cue Mario needed. As Paula and the other kids gathered round, he launched into his tale. The strangers on the porch became snake-charming, spell-casting, bloodsucking, shrieking maniacs who had pursued the two boys down the hill.
Joey enjoyed the story, too, though he objected feebly when Mario reported that the girl had tried to bite off the snake’s head. But no one paid any attention, anyway. And when he tried to interrupt again, Mario warned him off with a look that said, Keep your mouth shut.
“We were lucky to get away,” Mario finished, his face flushed. He was playing up to every squeal of horror from his audience.
Over the weekend, Mario’s tale spread quickly — and more rumours were added with each retelling. By the time Monday morning rolled around, the stage was set.
When the girl and her mother walked through the schoolyard gate, the whispering and pointing started immediately.
Mario wasted no time. Separating himself from the group that had gathered round him, he swaggered over to the pair. “Whatcha got in the bag — snake heads?”
The girl looked puzzled. She stared at Mario, then down at her bag, a green cloth carryall with a rainbow stitched across the front.
“Books and pens,” she said quietly, pulling a dog-eared notebook out of the bag. “And my lunch,” she added, patting a bulge in the bag. Then she smiled and, with her mother, continued walking into the school.