The Prank (Night Fall ™)

by Ashley Rae Harris

  “Oh my god!” Jordan cried.

  A slow gurgling sound started coming from Thomas’s throat. Briony shrieked, then crumpled to the ground and started bawling uncontrollably.

  Charlie leapt in the air, trying to reach Thomas, but Thomas was too high up. Meanwhile, Kevin tried to set the chair up under Thomas, but Thomas gave a powerful kick that sent him flying backwards.

  “We have to get him down now! He’s choking!” Charlie shouted again. “Kev, get up!” Kevin looked dazed. “He’s powerful, man.”

  Jordan rushed to Charlie’s side. The moon had vanished. She could barely make out Thomas’s legs as they scissor-kicked in the air. She tried to grab one leg to steady him while Charlie set up the chair and stood on it. He reached up and tried to loosen the rope around Thomas’s neck. Then Thomas kicked hard and knocked Jordan aside.

  “Come on, man! Just let me untie this!” Charlie shouted. But it was as if Thomas was struggling against them, resisting their help.

  Then, all of a sudden, Thomas’s body went completely limp. Charlie quickly loosened the rope and pulled him to the ground.

  “He’s not breathing!” Charlie screamed.

  Jordan could hear a low wailing sound echoing behind her in the dark.

  “Briony, stop crying and call an ambulance!” Charlie shouted. “I’m going to try CPR.”

  “That wasn’t me!” Briony yelled out. Jordan was surprised to realize Briony wasn’t behind her after all. For a split second she wondered where the wailing had been coming from. But there was no time to think about anything but getting Thomas to breathe again.

  Briony got on her phone and called 911. Charlie kept breathing into Thomas’s mouth.

  But it was no use. By the time the ambulance came, Jordan knew Thomas had died. She found herself surrounded by several police officers, demanding answers she didn’t even know how to deliver. Judd Powell and his parents, who had been awakened by the noise, came out of the house. For a minute they just stood there, frozen, taking in the scene: toilet paper everywhere, a frozen dog, and a lifeless teenage boy sprawled on the ground.

  Mr. and Mrs. Powell stood on their doorstep, shocked at the sight. Judd’s face went white, and his lips seemed to disappear for a minute. Then he just lost it.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” he screamed at the Bridgewater crew. “This is sick! All of you are sick!”

  Charlie, his face wet with tears and sweat, could do little more than shake his head. Kevin had gone grey-faced and silent. But Briony lashed out at Judd.

  “This is all your fault, with your cheating team and that crazy trap you set on the roof!” she screamed.

  A few officers pulled Jordan aside and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. She was in shock. How could this have happened? Two days ago she’d never even spoken to these people. Now one of them was dead, and it was partly her fault.

  Jordan took a deep breath and told the police everything she could remember, including the part about her bicycle in the rooftop prank.

  Somehow Jordan got through the police questioning. The second round of questioning began when a squad car dropped her off at two in the morning.

  “How could this have happened? Breaking into a veterinary clinic? Stealing a dead dog? Trespassing?” Jordan’s dad hadn’t even mentioned the worst detail of all—Thomas’s death.

  Jordan tried to stay clam. She knew her dad was upset, but there was no use in trying to explain the unexplainable. She couldn’t keep her tears from running. Her mother came to her side to comfort her.

  “I don’t know who this new crowd is that you’re hanging around with. There was a group like that when I was at Bridgewater. They were always pulling pranks. But those tricks can have real consequences. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up just like . . . like . . .” her father trailed off.

  “Like who?” Jordan asked through her sniffles. But her father was already walking away. In the early morning light, she could detect deep lines of worry and sadness on his face.

  “Who, Dad?” she tried again.

  “Nobody!” her father snapped. The look on his face had gone from sad to angry. Jordan had never seen him look like this, and it scared her. He shook his head and quickly left the room.

  Inconsolable, Jordan cried herself to sleep on the couch, images of Thomas’s twitching form and the low wailing sound that had accompanied his last breaths haunting her dreams.

  9

  It felt weird for Jordan to wake up and go to school the next day as if everything were normal. At first, the police had threatened that she and the other kids could be suspended or even expelled. But it soon became clear that since the pranks hadn’t occurred on Bridgewater High property, the only legal action against them would come from St. Philomena’s or Judd Powell’s parents. Jordan and the others would have to wait to find out if anyone was pressing charges. In the meantime, Jordan’s parents had forced her to go to school.

  When she arrived, her hair unwashed and face still puffy, her nightmare only worsened. What looked like half the school was gathered around the edge of the football field to the right of the main building. Teachers and administrators stood around, trying to urge them inside the building. A familiar sense of dread began to build in Jordan. She made her way slowly toward the crowd.

  In the center of the field lay a pickup truck, flipped over and smashed in several places. An ambulance was parked next to the bashed vehicle, and two paramedics were pulling out a stretcher. The truck must have been driven all over the field, as the turf was completely ripped up.

  “What the . . .” Jordan started. Then she saw him, the driver, wedged under the vehicle. Dead. He wore a St. Philomena’s letter jacket. It had been another prank. Another prank gone wrong.

  “Nooooooooo!” Jordan screamed.

  “Nooooo!” She couldn’t stop herself. She was still screaming when Charlie and Kit appeared, rushing from the crowd.

  They took her inside the building and sat down with her on a bench near the cafeteria. Charlie bought her a Sprite from the vending machines. She sipped it slowly, trying to clam her anxiety.

  “Are you OK?” Kit finally asked.

  “I guess I’m just so shaken up by everything that’s happened,” Jordan replied. She felt totally exhausted.

  “I know how you feel,” Charlie finally answered. Then, lowering his voice, he said, “I couldn’t stop him last night. No matter what I did. I couldn’t get a hold of him. I couldn’t save him.”

  “And that horrible wailing. I can’t get it out of my mind,” Jordan added.

  “What are you talking about?” Kit demanded.

  “It’s a long story. I’ll have to fill you in after creative writing class,” Jordan told Kit, glancing at the clock. But she was a little worried about getting her best friend involved in this mess.

  “OK, you’d better,” Kit replied.

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” Charlie said with a sad smile. He looks how I feel, Jordan thought, studying the deep circles underneath his eyes.

  10

  By the time Kit and Jordan got to class, everyone knew about what had happened that morning on the football field. One of Judd’s teammates had decided to send a little message of his own. He drove his truck onto the field and started to shred the grass. He hoped school officials would move the game to St. Philomena’s, where students would be prepared to bomb the visitors’ section with water balloons and eggs.

  But something had gone wrong. Though police investigators could find nothing defective within the vehicle, they determined that it had somehow spun out and flipped. The driver’s neck snapped—he died instantly, alone. He was Bridgewater’s second teen death in less than six hours.

  Jordan was glad to be in creative writing class. If anyone could make her feel better, it was Mr. Brown.

  “Alright, everyone,” Mr. Brown began, “I know a lot has happened over the past few days, and creative writing might be the last thing on your mind. But sometimes when you’re
going through a difficult time, it can help to put your feelings down on paper.”

  “I’m going to ask that you use the first twenty minutes of our class time today to write freely about whatever you’re thinking about. Don’t worry about grammar or spelling or anyone reading what you write. Just write your emotions down. And Ms. Windsor, please refrain from poking Brian’s head with that pencil. I’m sure he doesn’t appreciate it.”

  Jordan managed to smile a little at Mr. Brown’s familiar way of calling out the students. She felt her phone vibrate. She peeked at the screen inside her bag. Kit had sent her a text from across the room: It’s a touchy-feely day in Mr. Rogers’ neighborhood.

  Jordan smiled a little in spite of herself. Even in the worst of situations, Kit somehow managed to crack jokes.

  Jordan began to write down everything that had happened over the past few days. She started with Monday in the gym—“Bridgewater Live.” The next day Carlos had fallen from the rooftop, and Leslie had heard that weird crying sound. Leslie’s description of the crying had sounded almost exactly like what she had heard at Judd Powell’s. But how could that possibly be? And why would she and Leslie hear the same thing in two completely different places? Then, just this morning, the St. Philomena’s student had died trying to tear up the football field. Three accidents and two deaths in less than four days. It didn’t even feel real.

  Jordan’s concentration was broken by the sound of someone crying out in pain. She scanned the room and saw that Kelsey Windsor was holding a palm up to one eye.

  “Kelsey, what happened? Are you OK?” Mr. Brown rushed to her side.

  “My eye!” she yelped, pulling her hand away just long enough for Jordan to glimpse blood pouring from Kelsey’s face onto her desk. Kelsey jumped up and began spastically wiping the blood from her hands onto the back of Brian McGuire’s blue button-down.

  “You did this!” she screamed. “It’s your fault!”

  Suddenly, Jordan heard a familiar low wail coming from behind her. She didn’t turn around because she knew there would be nothing to see. No! she thought. Stop it! This has to stop now!

  “I didn’t mean to . . .” Brian looked pale and stricken. He couldn’t seem to get a complete sentence out. “She kept poking me. I was just trying to take the pencil away and . . .”

  “Why don’t you go get yourself cleaned up?” Mr. Brown said to Brian. He pulled Kelsey away from Brian and led her out the classroom door. Her screams of pain trailed back into the classroom from the hall.

  Brian looked blank. The rest of the class stared at him in disbelief.

  Finally Kit said, “What the hell happened, Brian?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know how that could have happened. I think I’m going to be sick.” Brian made a move for the door, cupping his hands over his mouth.

  Jordan had heard enough. There were way too many accidents for it all to be just a coincidence. Something was going on, and she had to figure out what it was. She jumped up from her desk, crossed the room, and grabbed Kit by the wrist.

  “We’ve got to get out of here!” she hissed, quiet enough that the other students wouldn’t hear her. For once in her life, Kit actually did what she was told.

  11

  Once they were alone in the hallway, Jordan turned to Kit.

  “Look,” she said, “Something strange is going on here. I don’t know what it is, but this isn’t normal. But I need you to tell me if I’m crazy, OK?”

  Kit hesitated. For a second, Jordan thought Kit might just laugh at her, but instead Kit said, “OK, tell me what’s going on.”

  Jordan took a deep breath and told Kit everything that had happened, in detail. She even told her about the weird sounds she’d been hearing.

  “Oh my god! That’s too creepy! I think you’re right. Something way weird is going on. What do you think is causing all of this?” Kit asked.

  “I’m not totally sure,” Jordan replied. “My dad said something last night. Something about kids doing pranks when he was at Bridgewater and it turning out badly. He got really upset. Do you know what he’s talking about?”

  Kit shook her head. “No idea.”

  “I’m going to the library.”

  “You’re gonna skip? What for? You’ll miss chemistry. We have a test . . .”

  “I have to see if I can find any clues to make sense of this crazy mess. I need to try something. You go ahead to class.”

  “OK,” Kit said tentatively. “Good luck. You know where to find me.” She waved her phone in the air as they parted ways.

  At Bridgewater Public Library, Jordan began her search. She looked up every archived article she could find about Bridgewater in the 1970s, when her dad was in high school. She read speeches from the town mayor, legal documents, and obituaries. Hours passed, and she had nothing.

  She was about to give up when she spotted a brief one-paragraph piece in a more recent edition of the Bridgewater Gazette.

  Hydroponic Greenhouse Produce Grown Locally

  Bridgewater native Devon Morton recently began selling hydroponic produce from a greenhouse he constructed himself several years ago in the neighboring town of Clintsville. Morton downplays interest in organic food or the environment, stating that this endeavor is “just a way to make an earning while living alone out here.” Morton settled in his Clintsville property after graduating from Bridgewater High in 1975. When asked what prompted the move, Morton simply replied, “bad memories.” In addition to hydroponic farming, Morton sells handcrafted miniature figurines and other goods. To place a produce delivery order, visit www .mortonproduce.com.

  Jordan’s reread the last lines a few times. 1975? ‘Bad memories’? She quickly e-mailed the article to herself. It could be nothing, Jordan thought. But if Dad won’t talk to me, maybe this guy will have something to say.

  She set about trying to find more information online, but there was no use. Frustrated, she decided to ask the librarian if she could browse through old yearbooks.

  “Ms. Kindal?” Jordan said, approaching the reference desk. “May I look through some old Bridgewater High yearbooks?”

  “Oh dear, why in the world would you want to look through those old things?” Ms. Kindal replied with a kind smile.

  “Well, I just want to see one, actually, from 1975. We’re doing a project in my—”

  “We don’t have that year,” Ms. Kindal interrupted her abruptly, her smile gone and her voice much harsher now. Jordan leaned back, surprised.

  “Oh, well, I just thought, you know, since that was the year my uncle graduated . . .” Jordan was trying to think fast.

  “Your uncle?” Ms. Kindal peered at her.

  “Yeah, Mr. Morton. Devon Morton.” Jordan gulped.

  Ms. Kindal’s voice became quiet, and she smiled sweetly at Jordan again. “I’m sorry. We don’t have what you’re looking for here.”

  Jordan practically ran away from creepy Ms. Kindal. It was all getting way too weird.

  12

  Jordan pushed through the hallway at Bridgewater High, making her way to the southeast stairwell. She passed Kevin at his locker.

  “Hey, Kev. How’re you feeling?” she asked, touching his shoulder lightly.

  He flinched, and she quickly pulled her hand back. “Sorry, I just wanted to say hi.”

  “Hey,” he said, not looking at her. “You getting pumped for the game?”

  “The game?” Jordan asked, confused.

  “Jordan, you’re so clueless sometimes,” he said, starting to laugh. “The homecoming game? This Friday?”

  Why was he acting so weird? Jordan wondered.

  “But I thought it was canceled.”

  “Why would it be canceled?” Kevin finally looked at her. His eyes looked glazed.

  “Kevin? Is everything all right?”

  “Sure. It’s going to be a blast. Talk to Briony. We’re all gonna meet up beforehand. I gotta run. We’ve got an extra-long practice today.” With that, Kevin swung
his gym bag around his shoulder and started off down the hallway.

  Jordan stood there speechless for a second. Then she felt a tug at her sweater that made her jump.

  “Chill out, it’s just me,” Kit said flatly. “Any luck at the library?”

  “I found this one article that mentioned something about Bridgewater High in 1975. Like something bad had happened. But then I couldn’t find anything else online. I tried to check out something old from that time, like a yearbook or something, but that crazy old Ms. Kindal wouldn’t let me see any.”

  “Hmm, that’s weird. Well, you know my dad keeps everything. Maybe he’s got something buried in the garage. Should we skip last period and check it out?” Kit asked.

  Jordan nodded. “Yes, but let’s find Charlie first.”

  Kit raised her eyebrows and smiled.

  Jordan blushed a little. “It’s not that,” she explained. “I just think he’d want to know about this. Maybe he can help.”

  Kit looped an arm through Jordan’s as they combed the hallways, searching for Charlie. They peered into different classrooms and study hall, too. They passed by two seniors making out under the stairwell.

  How can everyone just carry on like nothing is wrong? Jordan wondered. And why wasn’t school canceled, either?

  “Hey, Kevin just invited me to go to the football game with him and Briony on Friday night,” Jordan told Kit.

  “So?” Kit replied.

  “So . . . isn’t the game canceled?”

  “Apparently not. While you were buried in the library today, Principal Weston made another announcement. They’re just hosting the game at St. Philomena’s instead. Everyone cheered. It was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard.”

  “Seriously!? I thought Kevin was in shock from last night! Doesn’t anyone feel the need to mourn the deaths of two students? What reason could they possibly have for not canceling the game?”

  “Principal Weston just said that he had talked with St. Philomena’s principal. They both decided that the schools ought to come together, blah blah blah. Honestly, it sounded to me like they were afraid something worse would happen if the game were canceled,” Kit explained.