by Ryan Calejo
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, clearly making fun of me, and before either of us could say anything else (and believe me, I had a couple more things to say to her), there was another screeching whistle as the train began to slow, just like Violet had said it would. I felt one of her hands close around mine in that cheerleader death grip of hers, and she pulled me forward to the edge of the tracks just as the engine went blurring by, inches from our faces. White-hot steam billowed up from the undercarriage. It washed over us in a greasy wave, and the sound of metal wheels grinding on metal tracks was enough to make my teeth chatter.
“GET READY!” Violet yelled, but the hiss and chug, hiss and chug, of the train was so loud I had to read the words off her lips. An instant later she took off, and I chased after her, staying right on her heels. To our left, the train thundered violently along the tracks. Passenger cars flashed by, glinting in the sun. Suddenly Violet’s idea seemed even worse than it had ten seconds ago, and ten seconds ago it hadn’t been looking so hot either.
“HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO GET ON?” I shouted as the last passenger car pulled almost even with us. Then I got my answer: Violet screamed and flung herself at the speeding train. I watched—sort of stunned, sort of not—as all ten of her strong and always nicely manicured fingers wrapped around the top bar of the grab rail, and she pulled herself up onto the platform with ease. Geez. Talk about upper-body strength. Maybe I should’ve gotten into gymnastics. Or cheerleading. Or anything else.
“C’MON!” she shouted. Her eyes were huge with adrenaline as she stuck out a hand toward me. “TAKE IT!”
I’ll admit I didn’t like my chances. The train was still gaining speed, and I was losing mine. Running on these little slopes of crumbly rock was even tougher than geometry. “Trying!” My chest was already burning, my sides aching, and my footing was all over the place. But I pushed all of that aside—all of that plus the panicky, choking fear of totally embarrassing myself in front of arguably the coolest girl on the planet—and made my move. I put on a burst of speed, reaching out with my hands—
And stumbled, one of my shoelaces catching on the tracks. By the time I found my balance again and looked up, I saw that I’d fallen almost ten feet behind in the span of a second.
Violet shouted, “CHARLIE? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
C’mon, dude! Gritting my teeth, I ran as fast as my feet could carry me, got as close to the train as my legs could get me, and then made the only move there was to make—I dove for the platform just as the train started to pull away for good.
I’d closed my eyes as I jumped (dust and tiny chips of rocks were blowing everywhere) and felt my hands smack against the grab rail.
My fingers barely had time to close around the smooth brass bar before a bump in the track nearly jarred them loose, and I found myself hanging off the back of the platform, my sneakers bouncing and scraping along the tracks as the train rumbled along, picking up crazy speed. Okay, definitely not my brightest idea.
My panicked eyes found Violet’s just as another jolt shook the train.
This time my grip opened up. My fingers started to slip off the bar—
And in the instant before they did, Violet’s hands closed around mine, and she quickly hauled me onto the back of the train with a loud grunt.
We both went tumbling to our hands and knees.
I smiled sideways at her. She smiled sideways back at me.
“So, that was fun…,” I said, and we both burst out laughing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The interior of the train had definitely seen better days. The carpeted floors were dusty and faded, the wallpaper lining the halls (some ancient-looking floral print with white and purple flowers) was stained in places, torn in others, and the flimsy cabin doors rattled and banged with every hump, bump, and lump in the tracks. On the bright side, at least the thing still went choo-choo! every now and then.
Tiptoeing our way up the narrow hall, we stopped at the first cabin to our right, pressed our ears lightly against the laminated slab of the door, and listened for voices. When neither of us heard any, I slid the door open, revealing a small room with simple padded benches on either side, and we slipped inside.
The upholstery was a hideous faded yellow—more mustardy than lemon—and the overhead compartments were completely stuffed with mismatching suitcases; they must’ve been using this particular cabin as a storage room. Perfecto!
I eased the door shut behind us and twisted the little knob labeled ABERTO/FECHADO just in case. As we sat down, I gave Violet a Let’s keep our fingers crossed look, and she whispered, “It’s gonna be fine. Relax.”
Relax. Right. I mean, we were only stowaways on some old run-down train traveling through the middle of nowhere with no money, no passports, and no idea how we were going to get across the fourth largest continent on the planet. What was there to worry about? “And what are we going to do if some ticket-checker guy comes in here asking to see our tickets, huh?”
“Easy. We just start making out.”
I have no idea what kind of face I made when I heard that, but it must’ve been pretty funny, because Violet exploded into laughter.
“What?” I nearly shouted.
“Shhhhhhhhh!” she snapped, still giggling as she slapped me on the arm. “Someone’s going to hear you!”
“Forget that. What did you just say?”
“That someone’s going to hear you.”
“No, before that.”
“What? About us making out?”
“Yeah, that. I mean, what—what kind of plan is that, anyway…?” Was it terrible? Was it ingenious? I couldn’t decide.
“Haven’t you seen any of those social experiment videos on the Internet?”
“What social experiment videos?”
“The ones they do to see how people react in certain situations. I think they even have a TV show like that.”
“Yeah, not following…”
“My point is that there’s been hundreds of those types of experiments conducted to prove a simple point: People don’t like to interrupt people they see kissing. It makes them feel uncomfortable. Like they’re interrupting something private. They usually just want to get away as quickly as possible.”
“Are you nuts? You really think some ticket guy is going to come in here, see us playing kissy face, then just turn around and leave without asking to see our tickets?”
“Pretty much.”
“That—no! I mean, that’s not gonna work. That couldn’t possibly work!” And why is my voice suddenly all high and thin and squeaky? She’s the one talking craziness!
“Trust me, Charlie—it’ll work.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “You know, it sort of sounds like you’ve done this before.…”
She smirked back. “Charlie, just chill. Everything’s going to be—”
A loud bang, bang, bang at the door had me nearly jumping out of my skin.
My eyes flew to Violet. To her lips. And her eyes flew to mine. To MY lips!
Is this seriously about to happen?
Right here?
Right now?
In some random train in the middle of SOUTH AMERICA?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Kiss me!” Violet whisper-shouted, and another rush of panic—this one even stronger than the first—surged through me.
Suddenly I didn’t know what I was freaking out about more: the fact that somebody was at the door, or the idea of kissing Violet Rey!
“This is not the way I’ve always imagined this going down!” I objected.
Violet’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh?”
“That’s not to say I’ve imagined this before… because that—that would be totally weird!” My face was burning so hot I didn’t even know what I was saying anymore. I was just babbling. Fortunately, Violet shut me up.
“Charlie, just do it!” And she leaned toward me, puckering those glossy pink lips and closing those big blue eyes just as the door slid open.
Not a ticket-checker dude, I saw, which was a huge relief to say the least. And not some security guard type either.
No, it was a tiny old man, thin-framed and hunchbacked, holding a man-purse so big it could’ve easily doubled as a sleeping bag. He wore a colorful striped shoulder wrap over a dress shirt the color of ripe bananas and a yellow turban, which didn’t quite match the shade of his shirt. His neck and wrists were adorned with a whole mess of colorful beaded jewelry, and he had pale, liver-spotted skin that sagged in places, making it look almost like he was wearing a flesh mask. The dude was old. Like had-his-family-portrait-drawn-by-Francisco-Goya old. But probably not quite old enough not to notice us.
Which meant we were in trouble.
“Ay…” He glanced back at the cabin number on the door. “Fui al baño y ahora estoy todo confundido.”
“Charlie?” Violet said out of the corner of her smiling mouth. “Google Translate please.…”
“He said he went to the bathroom and now he’s all confused,” I translated.
“Why don’t you explain to him about the mix-up?” Violet said, not so subtly urging me on.
“Well, I would consider it a very fortunate mix-up,” the man replied, surprising us both. “I could use some company.”
“You speak English?” I asked, and he smiled softly.
“It would seem so, yes.”
“Yeah, we don’t know what happened,” I said, trying to think quickly. “They must’ve double-booked this cabin. We just got on.”
Violet elbowed me in the ribs, and it wasn’t until the guy said, “The train stopped?” that I understood why.
“Yes, briefly,” Violet said quickly.
“Very briefly,” I put in. “Blink and you would’ve missed it. I almost missed it.” Which was actually true.
V elbowed me again, forcing an overly enthusiastic smile to her lips.
The ancient-looking man set his huge bag on the bench across from us, then slowly settled himself beside it. His eyes were so blue that at first I thought he was wearing some kind of special-effects contacts, but he wasn’t. He just had really, really blue eyes. “It’s been a long trip for me.…” He sighed.
“Really? Where are you coming from?” V asked.
“I’ve spent the last few days exploring Brazil. I’ve always wanted to travel through South America, and by the time you get to be my age, you have to start doing it or you might not ever get the chance.”
“So where are you from?” I asked. His accent was sort of interesting, and I figured the more we were asking questions about him, the less he’d be asking questions about us.
“I’m from Venezuela.”
Violet made a face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing, I just thought you’d say something like Suriname.”
He arched an inquisitive brow. “¿De verdad? Why?”
“Because of your shoulder wrap. I think it’s called a kamisa, right? My parents own an antique shop, and there’s this guy that’s always bringing in old toys and stuff. He’s from Suriname and always wears one.”
A look of surprise flashed across the old man’s face. “Very, very sharp eyes you have, mi niña. Yes, in fact, I bought this in a vintage clothing store in Caracas. It may very well be from Suriname.” He smiled again, his face crumpling into a maze of wrinkles. “By the way, my name is Henry. Henry Ovaprim.” And when neither of us said anything: “And yours?”
“Oh, I’m Ramona,” Violet said quickly. “Ramona John.”
I tried to come up with a cool alias too, panicked, and said, “And I’m Ra-món… Ramón John.” Violet rib-smashed me again, and I squeaked, “We’re brother and sister.…”
Which had Mr. Ovaprim blinking in surprise. “You two are siblings? You don’t look very much alike.”
He’s onto us! I thought. Panicking, I cracked my book bag open an inch, then pitched it sideways, spilling a stream of rice onto the floor.
“Oh, how clumsy of me!” I shouted, winking over at Violet, who glared back.
Next thing I knew Mr. Ovaprim was bent over, picking up the arroz with surprisingly nimble fingers. “You—you don’t have to do that…,” I stammered. “I’ll clean it up.”
“Why in the world are you still carrying all that rice around?” Violet growled into my ear.
“What? What’s the problem?”
“Well, for one, it’s beyond embarrassing!”
“How is having a book bag full of rice embarrassing?” I shot back. “Arroz is, like, one of the most versatile grains on the planet. You can boil it. It goes great with beans or meat. And it’s not like we have a ton of money at the moment, so I figured keeping a couple extra pounds of emergency food on hand just might not be the worst idea, know what I mean?”
“¡Ya!” Mr. Ovaprim held up the last grain of rice, trapped between his thumb and index finger. Then he dropped it into the neat little mound he’d gathered in his other hand and dumped it back into my bag. “Ahí está. Now hold on to that bag tight. We wouldn’t want another spill.” Slowly his gaze focused on my chest, and I watched his leathery face crease into a confused frown. “Pardon me for asking,” he whispered, “but are you wearing a dog collar as a necklace…?”
Great. The guy noticed everything! “Oh, uh, yeah… actually I am. It’s—it’s a memento. You know, something to remember my pooch by while traveling.… Just love that furry little bundle of joy!” Awful, I know. But the truth was probably even more embarrassing.
Mr. Ovaprim’s frown deepened a bit. “How… sweet.” Then, after a few awkwardly silent moments, he said, “Ay, perdónenme, I have to excuse myself again. Drank a little too much sangria in the dinner coach. When you get to be my age… well, you’ll find out eventually. Permiso.” And he slipped out into the hall with his man-purse clutched tightly against one hip.
“He’s nice,” Violet said, watching him go.
“And a human vacuum cleaner apparently. Did you see how quickly he picked up all that rice?”
“Yeah, that was impressive.”
“By the way, how much longer do you think before we get to Chile? I might wanna check out that dinner coach myself.…”
“But why? You have a backpack full of such a versatile grain. Just snack on that.”
“Ha. Ha. You’re sooooo fun—” Through the window, I thought I saw a flash of blue light in the trees. Looked like a headlight. But way out here?
“What was that?” Violet said, narrowing her eyes as she turned to stare out the window. Which meant that she’d seen it too.
I shook my head. “No idea.”
And just then a shrill croaking sound echoed through the woods that ran along the tracks. Our window was slightly open (or maybe just didn’t close all the way) so I heard it pretty clearly; it sounded something like tué tué tué! “Okay, and what was that?” Violet said.
We both just sat there a moment, listening.
Maybe it was just the train. Squeaky brakes?
The thought had no more than crossed my mind when something slammed into the window less than six inches from our faces.
Whatever it was had struck with nearly enough force to shatter the glass; I heard a sharp crack as Violet and I jumped back in surprise; but at first my startled brain was all like, Gah, what I am even looking at? On the other side of the glass was arguably the most hideous creature I had ever laid eyes upon. Scratch that—it was the most hideous creature I’d ever laid my eyes on. Not exactly bird. In all honesty, it looked more like a face—a human face! Except this face had grayish skin, ears that had stretched into long, batlike wings, and a pair of swollen, bulging, bloodshot, purple eyes that were all pupils. Large, taloned feet, which seemed to have grown out from under the thing’s pointy chin, scrabbled madly at the window, leaving thin scars in the glass. Its mouth twisted into a snarl. The thing reared back, let out an earsplitting cry (tué tué tué!), and struck the window again, hard, with the center of its broad, bony forehead. Spiderweb c
racks raced across the glass, branching out in every direction. Violet screamed. Jumping up, she snatched a piece of luggage from the overhead bin and held it up like she was planning to use it as a shield. And she might’ve had to too, if the tracks hadn’t run so close to the woods that a wall of branches raked the side of our car like those foam rollers in car washes, wiping the vicious little sucker away.
V turned to me, her face white with shock. “WHAT WAS THAT THING?” she yelled.
I started to shake my head—and then stopped. I knew exactly what it was. I’d known it since I was five. “It’s a chonchón,” I breathed. “A harbinger of evil.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A harbinger of what?” Violet was staring back at me with eyes so wide I thought they might roll out of her head.
“Of evil!” I repeated. “They’re the decapitated heads of old sorcerers. They grow feet like birds. Their ears turn into wings.”
“The decapitated heads of old SORCERERS?”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds. They use a cream on their necks. Detach them from their bodies themselves.”
“Self-decapitation. Right. So it’s even worse than it sounds.”
“Some cultures believe that they come to warn you when something terrible is about to happen.”
V looked a bit unsure. “You mean, more terrible than it?”
Off in the distance, a howl rang out through the night—a wild, bloodcurdling sound that made my skin freeze and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Violet’s eyes, huge and full of fear, stared out at the dark woods racing past. “And what the heck was that?”
“The something terrible.” Through the cracked, drool-stained window I thought I could make out the vague outlines of shapes—HUGE shapes—moving in the darkness. They were too big to be forest animals, but also too defined—and too there—to be my imagination. Do they even have grizzly bears in Brazil…?
“Charlie, are you seeing this?”
Violet got that much out—and not another word—before the train car suddenly rocked and shuddered as if struck by a giant boulder.