Deadly Disguise

by David Bergantino

  "Are you ready?" Jack asked excitedly. His enthusiasm was contagious. Rachel felt like she was about to have the thrill of her life.

  "Let's go!" she said, and together, they forged ahead into the Haunted Mansion. Darkness engulfed them.

  When Rachel's eyes adjusted, she found herself in an alcove. It had been painted black, and a glowing arrow pointed left to a door.

  "You do the honors," Jack offered. He was watching her expectantly.

  Obviously, Rachel thought, he knows what lies ahead, and wants to see how I react. Bracing herself for whatever horror lay beyond, Rachel reached for the doorknob. But as soon as she touched it, a shrieking black cloud descended upon them. Bats, with their demonic faces and needle teeth, swarmed all around. Rachel panicked, screaming and struggling with the door that refused to open. Swatting at the creatures, she turned to Jack for help.

  He was laughing.

  That's when she realized the bats were mechanical. Of course, you dolt, she thought. Like there would be real bats living in an alcove of an occupied building. But the scare had been exhilarating. As if cued by her awareness, the cloud of bats rose and disappeared into the ceiling. On its own, the door now clicked open. She looked at Jack for some indication of what to do next. Still smiling, Jack simply held out a hand.

  Carefully, Rachel walked through the doorway.

  The door closed abruptly behind them, shutting out all light and blinding them again. She knew they were in a room, and she could feel that something else was in there with them.

  Like an incoming tide, the sounds of a crowd began to fill the air. A bright light burst from the ceiling, illuminating a guillotine on the far wall of the medium-sized room. A robotic executioner, steely eyes peering from his black mask, looked down at his feet. Below, a victim struggled, his head trapped in the yoke of the guillotine. The executioner pulled a rope, and the blade dropped. The sound of a man screaming. Then a gurgling sound. The victim's head fell from the yoke and into a basket, a flood of blood pouring from the remaining stump of a neck. Rachel's screams blended with those of the imaginary crowd as she buried her face into Jack's chest. Instinctively, he encircled her with his arms.

  "It's over now. It's okay." He was trying to be soothing. But the amusement in his voice was unmistakable. "Let's go."

  "This must have cost you a fortune," Rachel choked out. Looking up, she saw the light fading from the scene, until the room was black once more.

  "It did," Jack replied proudly. "But I can tell you it was worth it. I had the whole east wing reconfigured into a sort of a maze and these scenes put in."

  "What about after Halloween is over?" Rachel wondered. "You've gone to a lot of trouble for just one day."

  Jack nodded lazily. "I dunno. Maybe I'll have tours. I'll figure something out."

  A light came up, pointing them in the direction of another door. Jack led the way this time. They didn't even make it to the door. A hideous, huge man sprang from the shadows. Rachel jumped back as the man's arm shot out, thrusting an object at them.

  She screamed when she saw what it was.

  A severed head.

  Chapter 6

  The hoop skirt lay on the floor like a pile of shed lizard skin. Vanessa pulled on jeans and a fuzzy sweater. Her hair, which had been braided and piled on top of her head, now hung in silky strands around her neck. Slowly, methodically, Vanessa brushed her hair for maximum gloss, all the while staring blankly into a mirror.

  But her mind was not blank. It was registering how familiar the Appleby mansion felt, even though she had never been here before. She remembered a recent and recurring dream. In it, a tiny fairy promised her enormous riches if Vanessa could follow her. The fairy, a glowing ball of light, flitted all about, up and down, sometimes darting forward, then back, then retracing its path. And Vanessa followed. Their surroundings were pitch-black and featureless save for invisible walls. Vanessa was certain that it was through the halls of this mansion that she had chased the fairy in her dream. No matter how high, how fast, or how erratically the fairy had moved, Vanessa had been able to keep up. For the prospect of unlimited wealth, as the fairy had promised, she could will herself to sprout wings and fly.

  The nature of the fairy treasure had been revealed for a short moment to Vanessa, but was lost when she abruptly woke up. Whatever the treasure was, it had been wondrous. And though the knowledge vanished once her eyes opened, the feeling of amazement at her own good fortune remained.

  Now, in this mansion, the answer would be revealed to her once again. But this time she would hold onto it and it would not vanish.

  Screams wafted up from the floor below. Vanessa shivered. She wished all those guests would go away so that tomorrow would come. Tomorrow, she mused, our plan begins.

  Emphasis on our plan, she pointed out to herself. After that, my plan kicks into gear. It was sad, Vanessa thought. Because once, she had truly loved Jack. But for the moment, Ron was the man with the plan, and Jack was the host who'd be toast.

  If only Jack hadn't started ignoring her after his parents had died. They had been happy before then. He had been generous with his affection and his money. Especially his money. Then his parents had perished in some anonymous traffic accident and Jack had turned inward. For the first few days, Vanessa had been all sensitivity, allowing him his grief. But after that she became bored. When he finally claimed to have gained some sort of perspective on things so that he could cope, he was a changed person. He ceased being fun. The money and the affection stopped flowing. Jack attempted to break up with her, claiming that they weren't right for one another.

  As if guys broke up with Vanessa Chimera. Ha!

  * * *

  Back in the ballroom, the caterers were preparing to leave. RePete dropped two trays during the cleanup process. His co-workers thought he was just jittery from too much caffeine combined with his natural edginess. Only Maria noticed the smile on RePete's face.

  "What's your problem?" Maria finally asked. "Is your stupid idea of taking out all your frustrations on Jack making you nervous?"

  "You've got a huge crush on that imbecile," RePete charged. "You'd better not tell him any part of what I told you before."

  "I don't care to get involved," Maria said evenly, though in fact, she had been keeping an eye on RePete all evening.

  "I found something out," RePete whispered. "If I tell you, can you keep a secret? I mean a jumbo, elephant-sized, blue-whale-looks-like-a-guppy-in-comparison secret?"

  Maria immediately turned away. "I don't think I should hear it," she said nervously.

  RePete laughed at her mousiness. He was certain she wouldn't turn him in. He had dreamed of her lately. And in the dreams, he would talk and talk, a million miles an hour, and she would listen patiently. No matter what he said, she never judged or commented unfavorably, so he had a good feeling now about telling her what he had overheard. Even if what he revealed shocked her, she wouldn't blow his cover.

  "Come on," RePete cajoled Maria. "If I don't spill my guts, I'll explode and they'll be splattered all over the room anyway."

  "Ugh."

  "It's Halloween, Maria. I'm allowed to be gross." He was on a roll now. Things were working out much better than he had dreamed possible. "Just listen to this."

  Out of his pocket, RePete produced a microcassette recorder he had been carrying all night. He was on his second tape now, the one with the juicy information. Pressing play, he held the tiny speaker up to Maria's ear. At first, she seemed annoyed at him. Then she realized whose voices she was hearing. And what they were saying. At the end, her mouth dropped open.

  "That can't be!" she gasped.

  RePete smiled like a cat who had just consumed the entire aviary.

  "That's what Ron and Vanessa were muttering about after Jack left. You saw them kiss, so you know they weren't playacting."

  "We have to find Jack," she said, her voice rising in panic. "Find him and warn him, right away." She turned abruptly and started toward the stai
rs. RePete reached out quickly to stop her.

  "No no no!" RePete scolded. "We can't do that."

  "He'll believe us!" she insisted. "You have the tape."

  "Of course I do," RePete said in a soothing voice, though inside, he felt very jumpy. Maybe he had made a mistake telling Maria. Time for some major damage control. "Don't you wonder why I have this tape recorder in the first place?"

  Maria stopped trying to pull away and looked down at the device in RePete's hand. She regarded it warily, as if he held a live grenade.

  "Does it have to do with your vendetta?"

  "Correct-alopolis, my dear!" RePete exclaimed. He pulled her close again. "The National Enquirer has hired me to give them the inside scoop on this party. They're paying me five thousand bucks."

  "This is your revenge?" Maria asked skeptically.

  "Doesn't seem like much, does it?" RePete allowed. "But a few pictures here, an out-of-context statement there… it starts to add up. Mix in a generous dose of creative interpretation and I've got a whizbang story that's gonna knock ol' Jack here on his keester for good. Hollywood will never look at him again. And think how the local gentry will react to reports that, oh, an orgy took place here this evening, when the kids insisted it would all be good, clean fun."

  "He'd have nowhere to go," Maria realized. "He certainly couldn't settle comfortably in Springwood if that happened."

  "You've got the picture," RePete said cheerfully. "And now, with this real dirt, I can probably double my asking price." He looked off into space again, the possibilities swimming before his eyes. Then it hit him. "Better yet, I'll sit on it. Wait till the whole thing comes down, then write a book about it. With my evidence, I'll be able to sell it for tons of money."

  Maria was speechless with shock, but RePete didn't notice. He had come up with the perfect revenge: Jack would be destroyed, mentally as well as professionally, and he, Pete Peters, would profit from it.

  "You can't do that," Maria said, her voice taking on a surprisingly threatening tone. "I can't let you. I won't let you."

  RePete was so surprised by her protest, he nearly believed her for a moment. Then he remembered who he was dealing with: the ineffectual drama queen of Springwood High.

  "Maria," he said almost casually. "You have to realize that there's nothing you can do now to prevent it. Who would believe you? And who really cares about Jack Spyder anyway? These kids," he said, gesturing to the dwindling crowd, "they don't care. They're just trying to get a freebie. Jack himself probably wouldn't let you get anywhere near him. He's got Ron to protect him from the riffraff." He then delivered the coup de grace. "Telling Ron or Miss Vanessa Snoot-Nose would be a very bad idea for both of us, don't you think? You don't want them to know that you know their dirty little secret. If they're not afraid to ruin a big, visible star like Jack Spyder, what do you think they'd do to little country-bumpkin nobodies like us?"

  His arguments seemed to be working. Maria stared at him, her eyes huge, as the enormity of what he was suggesting soaked in.

  Maria seemed to agree that she was trapped by circumstance. She nodded slowly. "Okay," she said, almost shell-shocked. "I won't say anything."

  But RePete wasn't convinced. "You gotta promise me." He drew Maria's gaze into his own. "If you promise me you won't say anything, I'll believe you. Then I won't have to be worried." By the look on Maria's face, RePete didn't have to worry, but he just wanted to seal the deal anyway.

  Maria hesitated a moment. Then her shoulders sagged. "Okay. I promise."

  To show he was a good sport, RePete gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.

  "Don't worry. It'll be all right. I'll even cut you in when the big bucks start raining down like ashes from Mount Saint Helens." The offer failed to cheer Maria. Just as well, RePete thought. I ain't sharing with no one, no how. "Looks like we're done," he said, surveying the area that neither of them had helped finish clearing. "You staying or going?"

  "I'd better go home," Maria sighed. "I couldn't stay here under the circumstances."

  "Good girl," RePete told her. "Best not tempt yourself to cause trouble by hanging around. I'm going to head out to my car, then come back and see how the rest of the evening shakes out. See what shaking I can do myself," he added with an evil wink.

  Maria just shook her head sadly and walked away.

  * * *

  A door creaked open in the west wing of the mansion. As soon as Todd shined in his flashlight, he knew he had struck paydirt. The cone of light before him revealed a formal study. The smell of leather and wood was strong here. This was clearly a room left over from the days when the Appleby family had occupied the mansion. Under one large sheet stood a huge, mahogany desk. No doubt old man Appleby had sat behind it, looking at a map of Springwood like he was the only king working a checkerboard.

  Slicing up the darkness with the flashlight, Todd found paintings, ceiling-high shelves of books, and most strikingly, an enormous, stuffed polar bear he guessed must have been twelve feet tall.

  As he stared into the bear's snarling face, the door behind him creaked once more, then clicked softly closed. Todd spun quickly, his flashlight extended like a sword, but no one was there. He tried to hold himself together. After all, old houses played little tricks like that. At least, that's what everyone said.

  Todd took a second look at the paintings. There was sure to be a safe hiding behind one of them. All the old libraries and studies had them. And who was to say the Applebys didn't leave a few thousand stashed away here. Maybe nobody had ever been informed about it. After all, the Applebys hadn't planned to die. Blinded by the prospect of riches, it never occurred to him that he had no idea how to crack a safe. He single-mindedly searched the room, oblivious of all else but his hunt for the safe.

  So he didn't feel the presence in the room with him.

  Nor did he hear the footsteps behind him.

  And he didn't have a chance to scream as a hand clamped tightly over his mouth.

  Chapter 7

  In the zombie room, Jack became distracted. He and Rachel had just entered, disturbing a group of mechanical zombies feeding on a fresh victim. When the zombies rose and began to amble in their direction, Rachel shrieked in fear and delight, tugging desperately on Jack's sleeve, trying to get him out of the room before they were eaten. But when she looked at his face, he seemed a million miles away.

  The zombies were advancing. In a panic, Rachel shouldered Jack into the next room just in the nick of time.

  Jack turned to her, surprised. She was about to ask him what was wrong, but then eerie music wafted out from the room's hidden speakers. A wolf howled in the distance. As the lights came up, they found themselves in a graveyard, ankle deep in an evil mist.

  "Welcome," a deep voice with a Hungarian accent greeted them. The voice seemed to come from everywhere. "You're just in time for dinner. My dinner."

  The room was then filled with sinister laughter. In the center of the room a mausoleum became visible. A plaque on its face read DRACULA. The rusty gate at its entrance shook. Something was trying to get out. Finally, the lock burst into dust and the gate began to swing open. From the darkness within, one clawed hand emerged and gripped the side of the entrance. On one finger was a ring with a single, ebony stone.

  "Care to join me in an aperitif?" the voice asked seductively. "Care to be my aperitif?"

  From the crypt emerged an elegantly dressed man wearing a cape. Its inner lining was a deep scarlet. The man smiled, revealing two sharp canine teeth. In anticipation of a feast, they started to drip blood.

  "Something's wrong," Jack said suddenly.

  "What's wrong?" asked Rachel, noticing the troubled look on Jack's face.

  Jack shook his head. "I've felt this since Vanessa arrived. Something — or someone — is not right here."

  Raising his hands menacingly into the air, Dracula started coming for them.

  * * *

  RePete checked his reflection as best he could in his Subaru's sid
eview mirror. From head to toe, he was covered in surgical bandages. The next phase of his plan was to infiltrate the party. Dressed as a mummy, he would have free reign over the house. No one would have the slightest idea who he was.

  Perfect.

  He'd be indistinguishable from the other guests. And able to dig up plenty of dirt as he roamed the halls of Appleby Mansion.

  After making the face mask more secure, he grabbed the microcassette tape recorder from the front seat and gave himself a final once over.

  I'm Spider-Man, RePete thought. In costume, anonymous, and out to right wrongs. Of course, I'm more revenge-oriented than Spider-Man. So maybe I'm really The Shadow. Yes, that's it. The evil that lurks in the hearts of men? Been there. Done that…

  A surprise blow to his back knocked RePete forward. The recorder flew from his hands as his stomach caught the sideview mirror, deflating his lungs in an instant. The mirror snapped off as RePete crumpled to the ground. Gasping, he saw the recorder land inches from his face. Beyond it were a pair of mismatched shoes. Instinctively, RePete reached for the recorder, but before his hand could touch it, one of the shoes smashed it viciously. Splinters of plastic bounced off RePete's face. He withdrew his hand, dimly aware that if he had actually reached the recorder, splinters of bone from his own hand would be bouncing off his face.

  * * *

  Groaning, RePete rolled onto his back and looked up. Hateful eyes stared down at him. They were moving toward him now, and he saw clenched fists. RePete could not move. It seemed his only option was to lie there and prepare to die.

  In order to escape Dracula, Rachel and Jack had to dodge the giant bat that flew at them. Finally, they escaped, into a room featuring not just a king of the undead, but the King himself.