The Prank (Night Fall ™)

by Ashley Rae Harris

  Suddenly, Jordan spotted Charlie heading toward the back exit that led to the parking lot.

  “Charlie, wait!” Jordan hollered. She jogged to catch up with him. “Where are you going?”

  “I just got a call from Carlos’s parents. They’re at the hospital. Carlos just woke up, and he’s asking for me. I have to go see him.”

  “Can I go with you?” Jordan asked breathlessly.

  “OK, but, uh, maybe just you?” He looked at Kit. “He’s been in a coma, you know. I don’t want to freak him out with a ton of visitors.”

  “It’s cool,” Kit said. “You guys do your thing. I’ll find the yearbooks, and you can come by after the hospital to check ’em out.”

  “Thanks, Kit,” Jordan said, following Charlie to his car.

  13

  On the way to the hospital, Jordan told Charlie all about what happened in creative writing with Kelsey Windsor’s eye.

  “Sounds worse than what happened in PE this afternoon,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Chen Miller was trying to mess with the new kid. The kid’s kinda little, not much taller than you.” Charlie gave Jordan a sideways half-smile, and she felt her heart flip-flop. “Anyway, Chen was being a bully, chasing the poor guy around the gym during dodgeball. At one point the kid darted in the other direction to avoid getting hit. Chen tried to follow him, but he’s too clumsy. He stumbled a few times and took a faceplant right into that metal container where they keep all the balls. Totally knocked him out.”

  “Wow.” Jordan said.

  “Yeah, well, the really weird thing is . . . I heard that wailing cry again when he fell. It was the same thing I heard when Thomas was . . . killed. All these deaths . . . I’m starting to think something really bad is happening.”

  “I was just telling Kit! It’s like we’re cursed or something!” Jordan exclaimed. She explained what she’d learned in the library.

  “My mom would’ve been in school back in ’75 too. But she doesn’t talk much about her high school days—I know she was a cheerleader, and that’s about it. I hope Kit finds something in the yearbooks. Maybe Carlos can give us more answers, too,” Charlie said. “So, Kit—is she like your best friend or something?”

  “Yeah, since we were pretty little. She’s awesome. I mean, it takes a little while for her to let down her guard. But once you’re in, she’s a great friend.”

  “That’s really cool.” Charlie seemed to be paying a lot of attention to what she was saying. “Sometimes I wish my friends were more like that.”

  “What do you mean?” Jordan couldn’t believe she and Charlie were having this conversation.

  “Well, like Briony, for example. She thinks everybody likes her or wants to be her or something, but sometimes she treats people like crap. Like, that whole thing with your bike was super lame.” Charlie turned toward her. “I didn’t have anything to do with that, you know.”

  “I didn’t think you did. But thanks,” Jordan replied.

  They pulled up to the hospital and parked in the visitors’ section. Jordan started to get out, but Charlie came around and opened the door for her. This is almost feeling datelike, she thought, except for the whole visiting-a-friend-inthe-hospital-after-a-series-of-random-accidents. Not quite the same as a movie and dinner. Still, she smiled a little.

  At the front desk Charlie talked to a receptionist with bright pink lipstick. “We’re here to see Carlos Perez.”

  “Sure, sweetheart. He’s sure had a lot of visitors! You can head down to room 303.”

  “I wonder who’s visited so far,” Jordan said to Charlie as she followed him down the hall.

  “Probably family—Carlos has a really big family.”

  But as they were about to enter the door to Carlos’s room, they came face-to-face with Briony coming out. She looked tired, and her hair was messy. Probably for the first time in her life, Jordan thought.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” said Charlie, surprised.

  Briony fixed her eyes on Jordan, then narrowed them at Charlie. “I came to visit our good friend in the hospital, obviously,” she said. She glared at Jordan.

  “Us too. How is he?” Charlie asked.

  “He seems to be doing OK. I told him everything that’s been going on around school, and he’s pissed. He definitely doesn’t want that game to take place on St. Philomena’s field.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about it. Our field is torn up. Both principals decided to move it to St. P’s. It’s a done deal,” Charlie explained.

  “St. P’s? What are they, like, your friends now or something? You going to transfer there?”

  “Briony, what are you talking about?” Charlie looked bewildered. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe you should go home and get some sleep. This week has been hard on all of us.”

  Briony shrugged him off. “Sleep? The last thing I need is sleep at a time like this. Look, I expect you to show up tomorrow night to help us. Five o’clock.” She looked at Charlie intensely, then at Jordan. “You, too. Be there.”

  With that, Briony sauntered off.

  “What was that all about? Be where?” said Charlie. “I swear that girl is crazy sometimes.”

  Jordan was surprised that Charlie didn’t seem to think Briony was being more extreme than usual.

  Her expression must have shown what she was thinking.

  “What?” Charlie asked her.

  “Didn’t you think she was behaving strangely? Like, stranger than usual?”

  “I guess so,” he said, frowning. “Ready to see Carlos?”

  Carlos was sitting up in bed, reading a magazine. He smiled when he saw Charlie.

  “Hey, man! Lookin’ good.” Charlie put one hand up for a high five. He affectionately tapped Carlos’s shoulder with the other. Jordan stayed a few feet behind them. She felt a little uncomfortable all of a sudden.

  “Hey!” He smiled again and nodded in Jordan’s direction. She waved and gave him a little smile.

  “So you’re awake. How long were you out?” Charlie said.

  “Since Monday night, man, when this all went down. I guess the fall knocked me unconscious. I went under. Just woke up a few hours ago.”

  “Where are your folks?”

  “Oh, they haven’t left this room for days. When Briony got here, they skipped out to grab a bite in the cafeteria. I hope they bring me some more Jell-O.”

  The three of them chuckled. Carlos continued, “Speaking of Briony, she was acting pretty weird. She said there’s been more accidents or something since my fall. She wouldn’t really get into the details. Just kept talking about kicking St. Philomena’s butt.”

  Charlie took a deep breath. Jordan thought she saw his eyes well up with tears. “It’s been a rough week, but we don’t have to get into all that right now. You should probably relax so you can get outta this place, right?” Charlie tried to smile.

  “I guess so.” Carlos frowned. “You sure there’s nothing I should know about?”

  “Nah, man.”

  Jordan was about to speak up when the door opened and Carlos’s parents walked in, arms loaded with snacks and beverages.

  “Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Perez.” Charlie turned to greet them. He made a move to help them unload their stuff, and they started asking him questions about school and the soccer season. Jordan saw her opportunity and made her way to Carlos’s bed.

  “Carlos, was there anything that you remember about that night on the roof?” He looked at her quizzically. “Look,” Jordan continued, “I think something is wrong. Really, really wrong. If there was anything weird that you remember from your fall, or any strange sounds . . . please tell me.”

  His eyes darkened. “I can’t remember much. It was dark, and it happened so fast. But I still can’t figure out how I could have fallen. I was standing, practically crouching a few feet from the ledge. Just waiting for the girls to get ready so we could hang the stupid banner. Then all of a sudden I was being pull
ed forward.”

  “Pulled?”

  “Yeah, I can’t explain it. It was like I had no control against this . . . force.”

  “A force? What do you—”

  “How’s my sweetie?” Carlos’s mother had approached the bed and now kissed her son’s forehead. “Are you tired? Do you need to go back to sleep?”

  Carlos laughed. “Mom, I’ve been sleeping for three days!”

  “We’re gonna take off,” Charlie said. He came up to high five Carlos again. “Take it easy, man. I’ll come back over the weekend.”

  Back in the car, Charlie seemed a little more at ease.

  “You didn’t want to tell him about Thomas?” Jordan asked gently.

  He shook his head. “He just came out of some serious trauma. I thought it’d be better to let him relax with his family before getting him involved in this whole mess.”

  “Makes sense,” Jordan said.

  Charlie turned and gave her another one of his heart-melting smiles. “You’re a cool girl.”

  Jordan blushed. “Thanks.”

  “Before all this went down, I was thinking about . . .” Charlie stammered. “I was going to ask you to that dance . . .”

  Why is the timing always so perfectly off in my life? Jordan thought. She didn’t know what to say, so she just started yammering. “Yeah, it’s kind of hard to imagine dancing in the midst of all this craziness, I guess.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Charlie agreed.

  They were both quiet for a moment. Jordan broke the awkward silence and told him what Carlos had told her about being forced into his fall from the roof.

  “Hmm . . .” Charlie thought for a minute. “Remember how I couldn’t get Thomas to be still long enough to untie that rope?”

  Jordan nodded.

  Charlie continued, “It was like there was this powerful resistance. It took everything in my power not to go flying, like Kevin did when Thomas kicked him.”

  “I hope we find something in the yearbooks,” Jordan said.

  “Me, too,” Charlie said. “For all of our sakes.”

  14

  When they got to Kit’s, they found her in the garage with a bandanna tied around her head and dust covering each palm. There were old boxes all around her. She pulled books out one by one.

  “Looks like you’ve been busy,” Jordan said. She and Charlie started pulling books out of boxes too.

  “Is this what you want?” Charlie asked. He was holding up a yearbook from 1973.

  Jordan shook her head. “Are there more in there?”

  He lifted a few more books out and set them aside. Then Jordan saw it: Bridgewater High Yearbook 1975. The three of them sat down on the garage floor and began thumbing through the pages. There were photos of each student by year, along with quotes they had picked. They spotted Charlie’s mom, looking young and beautiful. Page after page contained students in theater costumes or basketball jerseys, or just studying.

  “Look at those dresses!” Kit exclaimed, laughing at the long chiffon gowns with puffed sleeves from that year’s prom. Jordan felt a twinge of regret that she wouldn’t get to go to the dance with Charlie after all.

  They turned to a page that looked somehow different from the rest. It took a few seconds for Jordan to realize why. Then it came to her. “All the students are crying,” she said slowly. “Yeah, that’s weird.” Charlie squinted at the photograph. “Where are they?”

  “It looks like some kind of memorial or something,” Kit said. “Do you see the candles everyone is holding? And everyone is wearing black.”

  They turned to another page with the words “Gilbert Sullivan 1958–1975” at the top.

  “He died,” Charlie said quietly.

  There was a picture of Gilbert at the top, and they had printed handwritten letters to him below it.

  Dear Gilbert,

  Wonderful son, we will love you and think of you always. You are in a better place. Love, your adoring Mom and Dad

  Gibby,

  I won’t forget you. You’ll always be my best friend.

  Dev

  “Devon Morton,” Jordan said quietly.

  “Huh?” Charlie asked. Jordan quickly explained the article that she’d found.

  “Hey, look. Here’s another one! A girl this time.” Kit opened to a page that read “Elizabeth Barton, 1958–1975.” There was a photo of a pretty girl with a big, toothy smile and long shiny hair. She looks like Briony, Jordan thought.

  They turned more pages to see the smiling faces of Peter Jacobsen and Theodore Moran. Then there was Chelsea Knight, 1960–1975. Chelsea wore a lavender turtleneck. Her hair was parted down the middle and braided. She wasn’t smiling.

  “She looks shy,” Kit remarked.

  “She’s younger than the others. Just fifteen,” said Charlie.

  “I think she looks scared,” said Jordan.

  “Five deaths in one school year. What do you think happened to them?” Kit asked. They sat quietly for a moment.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” said Jordan. “We have to find Devon Morton.” She quickly pulled out her phone and began searching through her e-mails for the article.

  She pulled up the article and began reading aloud: “‘To place a produce delivery order, visit www.mortonproduce.com.’ A website! Kit, can we get on your computer?”

  “Are you saying you can’t pull that up on your fancy phone?” Kit teased, motioning for them to follow her into the house.

  The Morton Produce website was pretty basic: an order form for various vegetables and fruits and a place to fill in the delivery address.

  “Go to contact info,” Charlie instructed, leaning over Jordan’s shoulder. She could feel his breath on her neck.

  “This just has the address in Clintsville,” she noted as she clicked the link. “No phone number.”

  “I guess we’re going to Clintsville,” Charlie declared.

  15

  The three squeezed into Charlie’s truck, with Jordan in the middle to help Charlie with directions.

  “It sure is cozy in here,” Kit said under her breath. She gave Jordan a slight jab to the side. Of course, Jordan didn’t mind being so close to Charlie. In fact, if she wasn’t so anxious about the meeting with Devon Morton, she might have actually enjoyed the strange road trip.

  It took them about thirty minutes to get to the Clintsville town limits.

  “I guess this is it,” Charlie said, looking out the window at mostly empty fields.

  They drove a little farther through the main drag of town. There wasn’t much there—a bank, a church, a bar. Everything looked kind of rundown to Jordan, like it hadn’t been updated since it was built.

  They drove slowly, checking the addresses on a few small houses. They passed one with a porch in the front. An elderly couple sat there, rocking slowly back and forth on chairs, staring at them.

  “Do you think we should ask them?” Jordan wondered out loud.

  “I don’t see anyone else to ask,” Kit replied. She rolled down her window. “Excuse me. Do you know where we can find Morton Produce?”

  The woman remained expressionless as she pointed and said, “Down the road about a quarter mile. Turn off the main road. Drive a little further. There’s a red mailbox, says Morton.”

  “Well, she was creepy,” Kit commented after she’d rolled up the window.

  They continued in silence, following the old woman’s instructions. When she spotted the red mailbox, Jordan started to feel very nervous.

  “Ready?” Charlie asked, looking at her.

  “Yes.” She smiled slightly. They parked the truck and headed toward a small, old house tucked behind several large trees. There was a larger building farther out.

  “That must be where he grows all the hydro beans and super carrots,” said Kit.

  Jordan took a deep breath as she stepped onto the front stoop and rang the bell. She could hear a rustling inside. Then a man’s face appeared behind the screen.

&nb
sp; “Can I help you?” he said in a low voice.

  “I hope so,” replied Jordan truthfully. “We’re students from Bridgewater High.”

  “That’s none of my concern,” said the man, more gruffly this time, beginning to turn away.

  “Please, are you Devon Morton?”

  “I am, but I’m not talking to any reporters. Especially kid reporters.”

  “No, we’re not reporters. We’re . . . there’s been an accident.” Jordan could hear the desperation in her own voice. Mr. Morton eyed her for a moment. Then he slowly opened the door to let them in.

  “Thank you.”

  “Sorry, that’s Mitch’s fault,” he commented, motioning for them to take a seat on an old sofa that was covered in a plaid blanket and dog hair. “Why did you come to see me?”

  Jordan started. “I saw the yearbook from 1975. I saw your name in the paper. You were friends with those kids who died.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Mr. Morton replied softly.

  “Yes, but there’s been some accidents this week. Lots of accidents, actually. I think the deaths might have something to do with them.”

  “What kind of accidents?” Mr. Morton asked.

  Jordan, Charlie, and Kit began the long tale of everything that had happened that week. Mr. Morton sat silently, staring at his boots as they described what had happened to Carlos, Thomas, the St. Philomena’s student, even the weird incidents in their classes that afternoon. Finally, Jordan brought up what had been bothering her the most. “And there’s one other thing. Every time someone gets hurt, there’s this . . . sound.”

  Mr. Morton’s head snapped up, and he fixed his eyes on Jordan. “What kind of sound?”

  “Wailing,” Jordan and Charlie said at the same time.

  Mr. Morton buried his head in his hands and began to shake. He mumbled something.