The Beast

by R. L. Stine

  “Hey—get those kids out of here!” he cried. “Are you guys scaring kids again? Don’t you remember what happened in Dayton? Those poor kids will have nightmares for the rest of their lives.”

  The huge woman waddled away, pressing a beard up to her chin. The two-headed boy grumbled loudly as he struggled to straighten his fake head on his shoulder.

  “Jelly, open the door. Get these kids out of here. Now!” the barker ordered.

  “Okay, okay. I hear you!” the Jelly Boy muttered.

  A few seconds later Ashley and I found ourselves back outside. The wind had picked up. It was ruffling the pennants on top of the game booths, making them rattle. The torches all down the walkway flickered low, almost blowing out.

  “That was creepy,” I said as we headed away from the carnival area.

  “It was all a fake,” Ashley murmured. Then she froze in place and her eyes went wide.

  “James—run!” she cried.

  I turned back to follow her frightened gaze.

  Blue-uniformed park guards. There were four of them now.

  They saw us—and were running after us.

  We wanted to run. But we were standing in front of a solid brick wall.

  19

  “Quick—give me a boost!” Ashley cried. She turned to the wall and raised both arms, reaching for the top.

  “There isn’t time!” I shouted, watching the four guards pick their way through the crowd.

  But I bent down and cupped one of her sneakers in my hands—and lifted.

  Her hands grazed the top of the wall. “Oh!” she cried out as her sneaker slipped out of my hands and she dropped back to the ground.

  “Hold your horses!” one of the dark-uniformed guards cried. “Don’t try to run!”

  We were caught.

  I let out a long sigh and waited for them to circle us.

  But as they came running across the crowded walkway, I saw a frantic-looking man and woman step up and block their path.

  “Our baby!” the woman cried.

  “Have you seen a baby?” the man asked. “A little one?”

  “She was in a carriage,” the woman added in a trembling voice.

  The guards were forced to stop. I bent quickly, grabbed Ashley’s sneaker again, and with a loud groan boosted her up to the top of the wall.

  Then I leaped as high as I could, grabbed the top, and scrambled over.

  “Ow!” I scraped both knees again as I slid down the other side.

  I glanced up. We were back in the small park where the barbershop quartet had been singing. The concert music must have ended. The park was nearly deserted.

  Ashley was already on her feet and running. Ignoring my throbbing knees, I started after her—and bumped into someone.

  We both cried out in surprise.

  It was a boy. About our age. Twelve, maybe thirteen.

  He had wavy brown hair that looked like it hadn’t been brushed in years. He was sort of shabby.

  His red- and blue-striped T-shirt was faded and stained, and one sleeve was torn. His wide brown pants stopped just below his knees.

  “Watch where you’re going!” he cried angrily, rubbing his side.

  “Sorry,” I murmured. “I was running and—”

  “Can you help us?” Ashley asked breathlessly, appearing behind me. “We’ve got to hide.”

  “How can you hide in those strange clothes?” the boy asked, pointing at Ashley’s Day-Glo shorts. “Are you a circus act or something?”

  “No. We—uh— I mean—” I stammered.

  “We don’t have time to explain,” Ashley said impatiently. “Do you know a good place to hide?”

  The boy tossed back his brown hair. He stared from Ashley to me. “First, let’s get you some real duds,” he said.

  “Some real what?” I demanded.

  “You know. Duds. Clothes,” he replied, eyeing me curiously. “Where are you from, anyway?”

  “Pretty far from here,” I told him.

  Ashley’s eyes were on the wall. The guards would be climbing after us any second. “Please—let’s get moving,” she pleaded.

  “Okay. Follow me,” the boy said. He began to trot across the grass.

  We followed him out of the small park onto the crowded walkway that led back to the carnival area. “By the way, my name is Paul,” he said.

  We told him our names. Our eyes were darting over the crowd, searching for guards. Each time we turned a corner, I expected to be grabbed.

  The wind swirled and gusted. It blew a woman’s wide-brimmed hat into a small fishpond. She started yelling at her husband to wade in and pull it out for her. He didn’t seem too happy about the idea.

  Ashley and I tried to stay in the shadows as we followed Paul through the park. After what seemed hours, we came to a place called the service area.

  Paul led us into a square white-shingled building. We found ourselves in a musty-smelling room. Paul pointed to several large cardboard cartons against one wall. A sign above the cartons read USED CLOTHING DROP.

  “Maybe you can find something that fits,” he told us. “Go ahead. Hurry up and change. At least you won’t look like freaks!”

  Freaks?

  Ashley and I hurried over to the cartons, which were piled to the top with old clothing. It was like the stuff you see in antique stores.

  Ashley rummaged through a carton and pulled out a long straight brown skirt with a ruffled hem. She pulled it on over her shorts. “Hey, it fits!” she cried happily.

  A few seconds later she pulled out a frilly, lacy white blouse. “This is like when I was little,” Ashley said, pulling the blouse over her sleeveless T-shirt. “I used to go up to my grandmother’s attic and try on her old clothes.

  She spun around. “How do I look?”

  “Like your grandmother,” I told her.

  I bent down and tried to find something that would fit me. Paul had his eyes trained on the entrance. Ashley was twirling around in the weird skirt and blouse.

  “Why do they have old clothing at an amusement park?” she asked Paul.

  “You know. For the unemployed people,” Paul replied without turning around. “The park has a lot of services for the poor.”

  “Really?” Ashley cried, surprised.

  “Well, there is a Depression going on,” Paul replied sharply.

  I pulled out a pair of knee-length brown pants like Paul’s. And I found a Hawaiian-style sport shirt, all yellow and blue flowers, that might fit okay.

  I remembered we read something about the Depression in a history unit. It was a long time ago, when a lot of people were out of work and everyone was poor.

  I wanted to ask Paul more about it. But I knew I couldn’t. Paul would wonder why I didn’t know about it. And I knew there was no way to explain to him about Ashley and me.

  I couldn’t explain it to myself!

  I went into the back room, tugged off my jeans and T-shirt, and pulled on the outfit from the carton. The clothes smelled a little moldy, but they almost fit.

  I felt like a real dork with pants that didn’t come all the way down. At least the Hawaiian sport shirt was kind of cool.

  How could people wear this stuff? I wondered.

  Well, at least it will be easier to keep away from the guards in these clothes, I told myself. As I adjusted the pants, my gaze stopped at my white pump sneakers. Should I trade them in, too?

  I had seen a carton of shoes in the other room, big clunky brown and black shoes. Maybe—

  “No way!” I cried out loud.

  No way was I leaving my pumps behind.

  I stepped back into the front room and stretched out my arms. “Hey, Ashley, what do you think?”

  My mouth dropped open as I glanced around the room. I let out a startled gasp.

  Ashley and Paul were gone.

  20

  “Hey!”

  I stared around the empty room, my heart pounding. “What’s the big idea?”

  Had Ashley been
caught by the guards? Dragged away?

  I hurried out the front door—and straight into them both.

  Ashley caught the frantic expression on my face. “Paul and I ran out,” she explained. “I thought I saw P.D.”

  “Who is P.D.?” Paul asked.

  “We have to find him,” Ashley replied breathlessly. “James and I have been searching everywhere for him. We have to find him right away.”

  A blue-uniformed security guard approached. He was whistling to himself, walking slowly. He stopped whistling when he saw the three of us.

  Oh, no, I thought, feeling my stomach tighten with dread. Caught again?

  I swallowed hard.

  The guard started whistling again. He walked right past us.

  I realized I’d been holding my breath. I let it out in a long whoosh. “These costumes worked!” I exclaimed.

  “What does P.D. look like?” Paul asked.

  “He’s an old man with long white hair and a bushy white beard,” Ashley told him. “Sort of like Santa Claus.”

  “The last time we saw him, he was wearing huge overalls,” I added. “Denim overalls. Over a black sweater.”

  “He shouldn’t be too hard to find,” Paul replied.

  “We have to find him,” Ashley said, her voice shrill and frightened. “We have to find him or we can’t get home.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  We searched for a long time. It seemed like hours.

  No sign of P.D.

  I suddenly realized I was starving. I led Ashley and Paul up to a food stand. A bright electric sign over the counter read CONEY ISLAND DOGS. Fit For A Millionaire.

  I peered behind the counter to see several hot dogs sizzling on a wide grill. So that’s what Coney Island dogs are! I told myself.

  I turned to Ashley and Paul. “How many do you want? I could eat a dozen!”

  “Just one,” Ashley said. “With lots of mustard.”

  Paul lowered his eyes. “None for me,” he muttered. “I—uh—don’t have any money.”

  “I’ll treat you,” I told him. “You helped us get these clothes.” I turned to the white-aproned counterman. He wore a tall white chefs hat. “How much are they?” I asked.

  “Three cents,” he replied in a gruff voice. “How many?”

  “Three with lots of mustard,” I told him. I turned to Ashley. “If we lived here, we’d be rich!” I exclaimed.

  Paul looked puzzled.

  “Where we live, hot dogs cost more than a dollar,” Ashley explained.

  “Stop teasing me,” Paul said, smiling. “No one would pay a dollar for a Coney.” His smile faded. “Are you really rich?”

  I felt all the change in my pockets. I knew I had at least five dollars in my wallet. “We’re rich tonight!” I declared.

  “Can we go on the Shoot-the-Chute?” Paul asked. “I never have enough money to ride it. Or anything else,” he added sadly.

  “We have to keep searching for P.D.,” Ashley told him.

  “But maybe we can do some rides on the way,” I said.

  As we gobbled down our hot dogs, Paul told us he came to Firelight Park just about every night. He couldn’t afford the admission. It cost a dime to get in. So he sneaked in through a hole in the fence back near the woods.

  He told us he had four brothers and sisters, and his family lived in a two-room apartment above a dry-cleaning store. “I work during the day, delivering the dry cleaning,” Paul said. “I don’t get paid a salary. But sometimes the customers give me a few pennies as a tip.”

  He finished his Coney in about two seconds. I bought him another one. I could tell he was really hungry.

  “Of course I give all my money to my family,” he continued. “You see, my dad lost his job when the stock market crashed. He goes out every morning, trying to find work. But there are so many men looking for jobs . . . .” His voice trailed off.

  I ordered three more Coney Island dogs, and gave the counterman a dime. We gobbled them up quickly. They were really good.

  “Let’s take Paul on some rides,” I whispered to Ashley.

  “Okay.” She nodded. “I guess we can watch for P.D. on the way.”

  We made our way through the crowd. The tall torches flickered as we passed, making our shadows dance in front of us.

  Paul led the way to a building called The Human Whirlpool. It was really a simple ride. A huge wooden disc stretched across the center of the floor. People crowded onto the disc and sat down. Then the disc began to spin, faster and faster, making everyone tumble and fall all over one another.

  We came out laughing, staggering, bumping into one another.

  We headed next to a ride called The Air-Flo Dodgem Cars. It was almost like the bumper cars they have at parks today. Except the cars were rounder and taller and didn’t move quite as fast.

  After the dodgem cars, we were ready for the Shoot-the-Chute. It turned out to be a kind of water-log-roller coaster ride. It was as high as a roller coaster—and everyone had to walk up to the top! No car to carry us up.

  Once we got to the top, we climbed into cars that looked like long logs. Then we shot down a watery track, curving to a pond, where we hit with a splash.

  “Thank you! That was swell!” Paul declared when we came out. “You two are real pals!” He had a big smile on his face.

  That made me feel really good. I’m sure it made Ashley feel good, too.

  “What should we do next?” I asked, jingling the change in my pockets.

  “I think we should search for P.D.,” Ashley replied. In the flickering torchlight her expression was tense and frightened.

  I was having so much fun, I had nearly forgotten about P.D.

  The wind suddenly blew hard, a strong, warm gust that fluttered booth awnings and made the trees shake and whisper.

  “Hey!” I cried out as an open newspaper flew along the walkway and wrapped itself around my ankles.

  As I bent to pull it off me, my eyes fell on the date on the top of the page—and I gasped.

  June 15, 1931.

  “Ashley—I-look!” I stammered. I shoved the newspaper into her face.

  It fluttered and flapped in the wind. She couldn’t read it.

  “It’s June fifteenth!” I cried. “Ashley—it’s 1931. Don’t you remember?”

  Her mouth dropped open. She grabbed the newspaper with both hands and stared at the date on the page.

  “The night of the tornado!” I cried.

  Stunned, Ashley let go of the newspaper and the wind carried it away. “James—what are we going to do?”

  21

  “Tornado? What tornado? It’s just a little windy,” Paul said. He glanced up at the sky that was now starless. “Probably going to rain.”

  “You don’t understand!” Ashley cried shrilly. “There’s going to be a tornado! A terrible tornado!”

  A slow grin crossed Paul’s face. I could see he thought we were joking. “You’re pulling my leg, right?”

  “No,” I told him. “We’re serious, Paul. We’ve got to warn everyone!”

  “Everyone has to leave the park!” Ashley cried. “Everyone has to get out!”

  “You mean it?” Paul demanded, still confused.

  The wind was blowing really steadily now. Hats were blowing across the ground. Women grabbed their skirts and held them down. People were laughing, raising their faces to the wind, enjoying the excitement.

  Only Ashley and I knew that the excitement would soon turn to terror.

  But what could we do? How could we warn everyone?

  How could we get everyone out in time?

  “Let’s tell those two guards!” Ashley cried, pointing to two uniformed men leaning against a white information booth.

  She dodged around a group of laughing teenagers who had their arms outstretched and were pretending to fly through the soaring wind. Then she went running to the guards.

  Paul and I hurried after her.

  “You’ve got to clear the park—now!” Ashley screa
med breathlessly.

  The two guards stared at her, their expressions not changing.

  “You’ve got to get everyone out! A tornado is coming!” Ashley cried.

  The guards exchanged glances. One of them had a thin blond mustache. His lips twisted into a smile beneath it. “Afraid of a little wind?” he asked in a mocking voice.

  Ashley sputtered angrily.

  “No—listen to her! She’s right!” I stepped in. “It’s going to be a terrible tornado. Clear the park! Clear the park!”

  The guard with the mustache yawned. “Beat it, kids,” he said in a bored voice.

  “Go see the sideshow,” his partner chimed in. “They’ve got lots of jokers over there.”

  “You don’t understand!” Ashley shrieked frantically, raising both fists in frustration. “We know it’s coming! We know it’s going to destroy the whole park! You’ve got to listen to us! We come from the future!”

  Both guards burst out laughing.

  “Go have a good time, kids,” the mustached guard said, waving us away. “And say hello to Buck Rogers for us!”

  “Say hi to Flash Gordon, too!” his partner said, laughing.

  Ashley choked out a cry of frustration. She lowered her fists to her sides.

  We turned and walked away from the laughing guards.

  “Why did you tell him you’re from the future?” Paul asked, scratching his long brown hair. “I don’t get it. Why do you think a tornado is headed this way?”

  “We don’t have time to explain,” Ashley replied, frowning up at the flickering torches.

  “She’s right,” I said, my eyes searching the long boardwalk. “We’ve got to find P.D.”

  “He told us he was here this night, the night of the tornado,” Ashley said thoughtfully. “So we’ve just got to keep looking. We’ve got to search every inch of the park till we find him.”

  Suddenly another idea flashed into my mind. “Ashley—maybe the park has a loudspeaker system. You know. For making announcements from the main office.”

  “Yes!” Ashley cried, her eyes lighting up. “That’s a great idea!” She turned excitedly to Paul. “Paul, where’s the main office? Can you take us there?”