by R. L. Stine
And as I ran out of the old mansion and back into the sparkly fairyland filled with loud music and laughing voices, I had the feeling I could get one more wish. I could make one more impossible thing happen before my party ended and the real world came crashing down over me again.
Crazy. Claire, you’re seriously MENTAL!
That’s what part of me said. But the other part said, Go for it!
And there I was, running through the crowd, waving to some kids coming out of the commissary, dodging around a guy swinging a big guitar case over his shoulder, stopping while an elf darted in front of me, carrying a slice of pizza on a plate.
I made my way past the executive cottages. The lights were still brighter than day, but there weren’t many people. Not much happening back here. And a few seconds later, the wardrobe building rose up at the end of the street.
My heart started to beat a little faster, and I had a tingly feeling all over my body. It has to be here, I told myself. Tonight, it has to be here.
Holding my breath, I turned and made my way to the side of the wardrobe building. And, yes, there it was. Puckerman’s trailer. The trailer of magic potions. A bright light on in the small window.
Yes! I was counting on the magic of the night. Counting that the magic would spread itself everywhere. I know I wasn’t thinking clearly. I wasn’t trying to think at all. I was driven by a hunch, a brain wave from I-don’t-know-where.
I ran to the trailer and climbed the steps. I pulled open the door. I stumbled inside—and there they were!
The shelves from floor to ceiling. The shelves filled with colorful little jars and bottles. All of the potions, Puckerman’s precious potions, all magically here again.
“I knew it!” I screamed the words out loud.
No sign of the little hair ball.
I rushed up to the shelf in front of me and struggled to focus on the tiny bottles. I knew what I wanted. I remembered the color. But my eyes were watered over, from excitement, I guess. And there were no labels.
I ran my hand along the little bottles. Red liquid … yellow powder …
I knew I had to be careful. No hate potion tonight. No aging potion. Oh, no. Not tonight.
“Yes!” Finally, I found the right one. I wrapped my fingers tightly around the bottle. The powdery substance sparkled inside the glass.
The love potion. I had it in my hand. All I had to do now was sprinkle it over Jake. I had to sprinkle it on Jake and make sure I was the first person he saw. Then he would fall in love with me.
My birthday wish.
It would come true. I would make it come true.
I’m not crazy. I’m a smart person. Ask anyone at Beverly Hills Academy. Ask my parents or my friends. They’ll tell you I’m a smart, rational person.
But tonight I believed. Tonight I believed in the magic of this crazy place, this crazy night.
I tucked the potion bottle into the canvas bag I carried everywhere. Then I spun out of the trailer and closed the door behind me. I began to jog. I saw eight or nine kids exploring the costume racks in the wardrobe building.
I turned my head so they wouldn’t see me. I didn’t want to be stopped. Mayhem Manor was calling to me. I wanted to get back there and work the love potion magic on Jake.
The lights were as bright as spotlights all along the studio street. I tried to stay in the shadows along the curb. Two rappers were onstage across from the commissary, shouting and gesturing, bending and pacing in front of their band. The music bounced off the trees and the soundstage wall. I felt surrounded by it. Surrounded by voices and shouts and people calling to me.
“Claire, what’s up?”
“Are you going to dance?”
“Claire, is there a cake? Where are you going?”
“Yo, Claire—awesome party!”
I moved along the side of the crowd, clutching the canvas bag tightly. A security guy was watching me as I reached the back lot. I knew I couldn’t let him see where I was going. The old mansion was strictly off-limits to everyone tonight.
Luckily, his phone beeped and he turned to take the call. I darted past him into the darkness of the trees. The twinkling fairy lights ended at the back lot. The dark towers of the old house rose in front of me, black against the purple sky.
I stepped over the yellow crime-scene tape and made my way to the front door. Someone had left it wide open, and I slipped inside.
From the dimly lit entryway, I could see Jake in the big front room. He had his back to me. He was talking to Delia.
Jake had a beer bottle in one hand. He kept gesturing with it.
I crept into the room. Shawn was in a corner, tilting a Rolling Rock to his mouth. And I saw Ace, standing on two legs, dancing in front of Shawn. Where was the dog’s trainer? How did Ace get in the house?
No time to think about that.
My friends had started a fire. The flames crackled and danced high in the wide stone fireplace.
A fire in June? It made shadows stretch eerily over the floor.
They didn’t see me. My heart started to pound as I stepped silently, silently on tiptoes behind Jake. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like paralyzed by … what? By excitement? Paralyzed by the thought of what I was about to do?
I pulled the bottle from my bag, uncapped it, raised it. The sparkling powder inside dazzled my eyes. I raised it higher … higher … over Jake’s head.
My hand trembled as I tilted the bottle and started to sprinkle the powder over his hair.
And then I let out a scream. “Oh my god! Oh no! Noooooo!”
36
“CAN I HEAR YOU SCREAM?”
I SCREAMED AS A POWERFUL blast of wind carried the glittery flakes into the air. To my horror, I realized I’d left the front door open. And now I watched the glittery powder sail up toward the ceiling.
The tiny flakes caught the flickering light of the fire and sparkled as they flew up to the dark wood rafters. And then … floated down, down over Delia.
Not Jake. No. Not Jake.
I watched the powder drift down over Delia, her hair, her shoulders. I cupped my hand over my mouth as I saw who my friend was staring at, staring at now with a totally lovesick expression.
Delia stared at Ace, the dog.
A strange smile spread over her face as she bent to lift the dog off the floor. She wrapped him in her arms and held him close. And then she lowered her face and kissed the mutt passionately on the tip of his snout.
Delia doesn’t like dogs.
That was my insane thought as I watched her nuzzling the animal, holding him close. She began rocking him in her arms.
What have I done?
That was my second thought. I jammed the love potion bottle back into my bag.
Jake and Shawn turned to stare in shock at Delia. They knew how she felt about dogs.
“Dee, what’s up?” Jake called to her, grinning. “You have a new boyfriend?”
“Isn’t he the most precious thing?” Delia kissed Ace again, a slobbery wet kiss.
I lurched toward her. I wanted to explain. To apologize. But I didn’t get very far. I heard a throat being cleared loudly. The click of footsteps on the hardwood floor.
I spun around. We all did. I uttered a gasp.
Puckerman stepped forward, an evil grin spread across his bearded face. He raised his hands, as if in triumph, and shouted, “Places. Places, everyone!”
No one moved. I heard the dog whimper. A heavy silence fell over the room.
“What do you want?” The words burst from my throat in a shrill, trembling question. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to finish my film now,” Puckerman said. He rubbed his beard. “We’ve waited so long. So many years. And now it’s time for a wrap. Time to finish what we started.”
“What do you mean?” I cried.
“Since when is it your film?” Jake shouted.
“What do you mean finish the film?” I said. “The film is dead. It’s—”
He raised a hand to silence me. His hands were so hairy, they looked like animal paws.
“Our film is not complete,” Puckerman said. “Didn’t you read the script? We need four more deaths.” His gaze swept around the room. “How lucky there are four of you.”
“Are you for real?” Delia cried. “This is a birthday party. Who invited you?”
“Let’s get out of here!” Shawn said. He tossed down his beer bottle and trotted to the front door. Holding Ace tightly in her arms, Delia followed him.
Jake and I stayed back, our eyes on Puckerman.
At the front of the house, I heard Shawn pounding his fists on the heavy front door. It had been wide open when I arrived. Wide open to let in that blast of wind. But now it was closed.
“Places! Places, actors!” Puckerman shouted. “This is a closed set. The doors cannot be opened. Come back. Places! Places, everyone!”
Delia and Shawn came running back in. “He—he’s crazy!” Delia stammered. “He has us locked in here. What are we going to do?”
She nuzzled the dog and made cooing sounds to him. The dog licked her face.
I’ve ruined everything, I told myself. Why did I suggest we come here?
Puckerman grinned, enjoying everyone’s fear.
“He’s crazy,” Jake whispered to me. “Totally sick.”
“Places, everyone!” Puckerman shouted. “We need to film the next scene.”
He locked his eyes on me. “I believe the next scene is yours, Claire. You were supposed to have the stairway scene, but there was a mix-up.”
“No. Please—” I cried. I backed against the wall. “Please—” I pictured Annalee’s head gazing out blankly on the step, her neck broken, dead with a sudden snap.
“Since you’re the birthday girl,” Puckerman said, eyes flashing wildly, “you can go first. You know I’ve been planning this for you. I have an even better scene for you.”
“Let us go!” Delia cried.
Shawn stepped up beside her. “Let us out of here, you freak!”
Puckerman bounced excitedly on his shoes. He pointed to the wall behind us. “See the camera? It’s already rolling. You’re all going to be stars. Horror movie stars. Ha-ha.”
He held a hairy paw up to one ear. “Can I hear you scream now? Make it real. Because the four of you are really going to die. Come on, people. Can I hear you? Can I hear you scream?”
37
CLICK CLICK CLICK
“YOU—YOU’RE REALLY GOING TO KILL US?” I stammered. “Why? What is this about?”
He tossed back his furry head and laughed. He had the ugliest laugh I’ve ever heard. It sounded more like choking than laughter.
“You really don’t have a clue—do you!” he said.
Beside me, Delia held Ace close to her. The dog was whimpering softly.
I gazed straight ahead at Puckerman. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.
“Sit down, people!” Puckerman shouted, motioning us down with both hands. “Everyone down. It’s story time.”
No one moved.
“NOW!” he shrieked.
We obediently dropped to the hard floor. I settled on my knees, determined to stay alert, to watch for the first chance to escape.
He leaned against a stage light. “You’re going to die, so you might as well know why,” he said.
He cleared his throat again. He spit something disgusting onto the floor. “I’ve always had a dream,” he said. “Do you have a dream? My dream was to become the greatest horror-movie director of all time. The best in movie history.”
His tiny dark eyes stayed on me. I felt a chill grip the back of my neck.
“When they built Mayhem Manor,” he continued, “I saw my big opportunity. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. I used my potions to get what I wanted. I got them to name me director of the film. No problem. And then I was set to make my mark on movie history. Because I planned to make a horror movie in which all the actors actually died.”
“You’re crazy!” Jake shouted. He started to his feet, but I pulled him back down.
“Jake, he’ll kill you,” I whispered.
Puckerman shook his head. “The greatest horror-movie idea in history, and they stopped me. After only three murders—three delicious murders—they shut down my film. The idiots! Idiots!”
He IS crazy, I thought. He directed the film in 1960, and he deliberately killed those actors. Those three deaths weren’t accidents. They were murders. And then I realized: He’s crazy enough to kill us all.
“How angry was I?” he screamed. “How angry? Angry enough to stay alive. I’m 112, but my potions kept me alive. I stayed alive all these years to await my chance.”
Puckerman paced back and forth in front of us. “All these years, I waited in this house for a new cast to arrive. Waited. Waited patiently. And then, there you were. Sixty years later, time to start the film again.”
An ugly grin spread on his hairy face. “And what wonderful scenes we shot. Lana with her lovely hand on the table. Jeremy’s pretty face in the microwave. Oh yes. I was there in his dressing room. I rigged the microwave and filmed the whole wonderful scene. And then … Annalee doing such a beautiful fall. What a trouper!” He laughed his ugly laugh.
“But, my dear actors, tonight will be our triumph, our greatest night. We have four more scenes to shoot, one for each of you. This is so exciting. Tonight we finish my masterpiece, Mayhem Manor.”
“No way!” Shawn cried. “We’re not cooperating. We won’t do this.”
“Of course you will,” Puckerman said softly. “You want to be stars, don’t you?”
He waved a hairy paw at me. “Come up here, birthday girl. I summoned you here because it’s your special day. And so, the first scene is yours. Are you ready for the grandfather clock scene?”
I swallowed. I raised myself to my feet on trembling legs. I didn’t want to step forward. But I didn’t seem to be in control. He had used some kind of potion on me.
“Wh-what’s the grandfather clock scene?” I stammered, my throat too choked to make a sound above a whisper.
He pointed to the tall wood-and-glass clock in the corner. “You walk over there. You try to stop the clock. You don’t realize the pendulum has been sharpened until it can cut through steel. You grab for the pendulum as it swings. You grab for it with both hands. Slice slice. The blades cut fast. You scream. The blood spurts up. In your shock, you fall forward—and slice your whole body to slivers.” He giggled.
“Nooo!” A wail escaped my throat. “You wouldn’t. You won’t. You—”
“Come on, Claire. This is your close-up, your moment in movie history. You won’t let a little pain stand in your way—will you?”
“No. Please. Please.”
“The camera is rolling. Step forward, Claire. I’m sure you can do this scene in one take.”
I turned to my friends. Why weren’t they helping me? Shawn sat by himself in the corner. Delia held the dog in her lap and stared straight ahead. Jake gazed up at me but didn’t move.
Were they all under spells?
I couldn’t stop myself. I felt pulled to the tall, old clock. One foot, then the other. I could see the long silvery pendulum inside the tall glass door, swinging from side to side, making a loud click with each swing.
Click. Click. Click.
Counting off the seconds before my painful death.
“Go ahead, Claire,” Puckerman urged, walking close behind me. “The clock is driving you crazy. You want to stop it so you can think straight. Go ahead. Grab the door handle. Pull it open—and reach for the pendulum with both hands.”
My breath caught in my throat. I could feel the blood pulsing at my temples.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. But I couldn’t stop myself.
Click. Click. Click.
I grabbed the handle on the side of the glass—and pulled open the door.
38
THE DIRECTOR’S CUT
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
I held th
e glass door of the clock open and stared at the shiny pendulum as it swung back and forth. As if hypnotized, I couldn’t take my eyes off it as I stood trembling, not breathing, imagining … imagining the unbearable pain of having my hands chopped up … sliced and bleeding … and then my whole body cut.
Click. Click. Click.
“Go ahead, Claire.” Puckerman’s voice broke into my panic. “Reach for it. This is your moment. Reach for it.”
I raised my hands in front of me. I curled my fingers, preparing to grab the sharpened metal.
Click. Click. Click.
“Go for it, Claire.” The evil bearded creature forcing me, willing me with his mind … his twisted mind.
My hands slid forward. I couldn’t stop them. I had no control.
“Not like that. Like this,” Puckerman instructed. “Grab it. Grab it.”
He coiled his hairy paws, demonstrating. He moved toward me, eyes on my hands. “Grab it.”
“No,” I uttered. I lurched back.
I bumped Puckerman. He stumbled over my leg—and toppled forward.
He shot out both hands, trying to stop his fall. But he had nothing to grab on to.
“Whoooa.” His cry was cut off as the top of his head hit the clock.
Click click.
I gasped as the pendulum blade sliced off his head. A fast, clean cut.
The little man’s body crumpled like a balloon deflating, and his head bounced on the floor in front of me. It rolled a few feet, then stopped, nesting in its own thick beard.
The dark eyes remained open, staring blankly up at me, still bulging with surprise.
“Wow! Oh, wow!” I heard Shawn cry out behind me. “We’re going to be okay!”
Jake came up behind me and put his hands on my trembling shoulders. “Claire? You’re all right?”
I couldn’t stop shaking. I stared down in horror at Puckerman’s head. And then I choked out, “No blood.” I pointed frantically. “Look. He didn’t bleed. There’s no blood.”
“What a freak!” Shawn declared. “Let’s get out of here.”
I turned and saw Delia standing up now, a big smile on her face. She held Ace in her arms and kept nuzzling him and pressing him against her.