by Marc Franco
Shig nodded again. “I think you’re right, Jakob. The way she said S.R. was kind of obvious.”
“You’re right, Shig. And what’s she doing inside her house? Isn’t she supposed to hang out at Fleep’s until her parents get back? This has something to do with the fake curse,” I said suspiciously.
“Shut up about the curse being fake,” Logan said. “Just don’t believe, then. I already told you guys: Tiff wouldn’t help her brother. They hate each other.”
“Whatever, let’s catch up with Tiff and settle this once and for all. She’ll fess up,” I said, sprinting ahead. I could hear Logan behind me, protesting that I’d only upset Tiff again and should let her handle it. We caught up to Tiff a few seconds later at Fleep’s driveway. “Hey, Tiff, who is S.R.?” I asked in a calm voice. I didn’t want to come across as confrontational, not yet.
She stopped and turned around. “I don’t know. Rick has never mentioned him.”
Not entirely satisfied with her answer, I pressed further. “But you said he was a friend.”
“Yeah, because that’s what the guy said,” she said, a little annoyed.
“It’s a guy, like a man and not some kid?” Logan asked, nudging me as she passed.
“Come to think of it—yeah, he sounded older.” Tiff was eyeing us suspiciously. “What’s all this about?”
“Oh, you already know,” Logan said dismissively with a chuckle, trying to lighten the growing tension.
“Whatever,” Tiff said testily and turned to walk away.
“Tiff, wait,” I said. She didn’t stop. I turned to Logan. “Ask her,” I demanded. Logan shot me a piercing look to shut up. It had no effect. “Fine! I will.”
I shouted at Tiff’s retreating back, “Are you helping your brother?”
Tiff stopped, slowly turned around, then pursed her lips and folded her arms. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t know that your brother has an e-mail address listed in that Wikipedia article about the Eleventh Rule? And that he calls himself S.R.?”
Tiff looked confused. “The e-mail in that article was [email protected], not S.R., or whoever.”
“Look, just sneak into your house and see if he’s even on the phone. If he is, listen in and find out what he and the S.R. person are talking about. It’ll prove you’re not helping him,” I said.
“I’m not helping him,” Tiff said disgustedly.
“Then go and see what he’s up to so we can forget about this curse and catching-Santa nonsense.”
Tiff visibly jerked. “Wait, what did you just say?” she asked, grabbing me by the shoulders like a parent does when you’re in trouble and have to listen to what they say.
“We can forget about the curse …”
“Not that. The catching-Santa nonsense,” Tiff interrupted.
I sighed. “I got an e-mail reply from someone named S.R., who is actually your brother.” Tiff suddenly released me and turned to Logan. Strong grip, I thought.
“You got a reply and didn’t tell me?” Tiff said forcefully. Logan stepped back and folded her arms, obviously uncomfortable with Tiff’s behavior.
“… and the e-mail said that we have to catch Santa,” I said, trying to steer Tiff back to her original question.
“Catch Santa—” Tiff said to herself then turned, panic stricken, and grabbed me again. “He used his initials and disguised his voice.” Tiff’s eyes were insanely wide. It was scary. “If anything happens, it’s your fault. You hear me? Your fault! You should have told me!” Tiff snapped over her shoulder as she ran to her house.
“What in the world just happened with Tiff?” Shig asked. Good acting, that’s what happened, I thought as I rubbed my arms. Tiff was really strong.
“Just a guess, but I think she knows who’s on the phone with her brother. And based on her reaction, it’s not good,” Logan said.
“Exactly,” Shig said.
“Yep,” Fleep added.
Pathetic, I thought.
So there we were—Fleep, Shig, Logan and I—tensely pacing along the sidewalk near Fleep’s driveway. Five minutes later, we watched a terrified Tiff sprint from her house like she was being chased. She was as white as a ghost and covered in sweat.
“Something’s wrong!” Logan shouted.
We sprinted to Tiff, preparing to meet her halfway, but she didn’t stop. “Run! Run!” Tiff shouted over her shoulder as she passed us. “He’s after me!”
“Who?! I don’t see anyone!” Logan shouted as she chased Tiff. I quickly glanced around. Logan was right, we were the only ones outside. Tiff finally stopped just past Fleep’s house, crying, in a panic, talking so fast it was hard to understand her. All we could understand was something like, “He’s gone.”
“Who’s gone? What happened?” Logan asked, leaning into her.
“We have to go, get away from here—no, we have to get the book. Yes, the book, we have to close it,” Tiff said hysterically.
“What? You’re not making any sense,” Logan said.
Tiff’s mad eyes cut to me. “This is all your fault, Jakob. You won’t believe in the curse and now he’s gone.”
“What?” I asked puzzled.
“Tiff, who’s gone?” Shig repeated, begging her to answer.
“Rick!” Tiff snapped. “I was hiding just outside the kitchen, behind a wall. I could hear Rick talking on the phone, answering questions about Jakob, and then his voice suddenly changed. At first I thought he was choking, so I peeked from around the wall. Rick looked right at me, so I knew he saw me. Then he dropped the phone and that’s when I saw it—the smoke, coal black and billowing out from the cordless phone at Rick’s feet. My instinct was to shout fire, thinking the phone was on fire. I sprinted toward Rick, and as I opened my mouth to warn him, it attacked me.”
“What? What attacked you?” Fleep asked nervously.
“The smoke, it formed into a hand and covered my mouth. I tried to scream but couldn’t. I could barely breathe, and Rick was inches from me, gagging and coughing. I watched helplessly as another strand of smoke billowed out from the phone and surrounded Rick in a black, cloudy pillar.”
Oh, my gosh, this is getting ridiculous, I thought. Logan was in my periphery, rubbing her arms. She had chill bumps again, which meant she believed every word of Tiff’s story.
“Then I watched the impossible happen, something that will give me nightmares for the rest of my life,” Tiff continued softly.
“What?” Logan asked, her voice full of dread.
“The pillar of smoke spun around Rick like a mini-tornado, and I watched as my brother’s legs, then waist, and then the rest of him turned to smoke and got sucked into the phone. He looked like a genie being sucked back into its bottle. Then, before I knew it, Rick was gone and the smoke that was wrapped around me disappeared. I could suddenly move my legs and ran as fast as I could.”
I stared at Tiff for a moment to digest everything she had said, then waited for the punch line … waited for the “Ha-ha, I got you” … waited for Rick to come running out his front door spouting something obnoxious. I waited, but nothing happened.
“Rick’s gone? This isn’t some sick joke of his?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“No!” Tiff said, crying, “He’s gone. Gone and it’s your fault!”
I can’t explain it, but there was something in Tiff’s expression that made me ignore the accusation for the time being. She was either the world’s greatest liar or was telling the truth. I had no way of telling. Tiff plopped down heavily on the sidewalk and crossed her legs. Logan, Shig, and Fleep joined her.
“Seriously … the phone sucked him in?” I asked, folding my arms.
Tiff looked up at me. She looked so sad, so fragile; her green eyes were pooled with tears. She blinked and the tears ran. Logan put her arm around Tiff.
I sighed and sat down. “We need to go back in there,” I said. “This has to be one of your brother’s pranks.”
“It’s n
o prank. Rick is gone. S.R., as he’s now calling himself, took him and now he’s coming for you three,” Tiff said, referring to Logan, Shig, and Fleep.
“Why’s he coming for us?” Fleep asked nervously.
Suddenly Fleep’s garage door opened, startling us. The door rose like curtains to reveal Fleep’s dad staring at us from behind his sunglasses. Keying in on Tiff’s tears, he began to walk down the driveway toward us.
We stood as Mr. Sanchez approached.
“Did Grandma die?” He sure was a just-the-facts kind of guy. No soft emotional lead in, no couth; just cut to it and ask the question. That’s definitely how my dad would have done it too. I guess that’s why they got along so well. Tiff shook her head.
Fleep chimed in. “Dad, Rick and her had a little …”
“Fight?” Mr. Sanchez asked.
“Something like that,” Logan said. Tiff wiped her tears.
“Oh, well, it happens. You’ll be fine,” Mr. Sanchez said reassuringly, rushing away to the garage. The situation was obviously a bit too emotional for his comfort. “And listen, remind that brother of yours to check in with me whenever he’s done sulking!”
Tiff nodded, and we all breathed a collective sigh of relief that it was just us again.
Secretly, I still was convinced it was a prank. But by now I also was convinced Tiff was Rick’s latest victim. He had terrified his own sister, his own blood, to tears. Clearly he had no limits or loyalties. I was determined to prove Rick was hiding somewhere in his house. So, while everyone else watched Mr. Sanchez walk away, I kept a close eye on the front windows of Tiff’s house, expecting to catch Rick peeking out at us. But it never happened.
We relocated to my house and sat out back around the unlit fireplace. Tiff said it was time to tell us who S.R. was. I secretly didn’t care what she said; I knew who he was. I had my own agenda, and it meant getting everyone out of sight to give Rick some breathing room. He was in his house, I was sure of it. Something magical would have to happen for me to believe otherwise.
“You need to tell my dad what happened to Rick. Kidnapping is a crime,” Shig counseled a somber-looking Tiff. Just then the “Feliz Navidad” song began blaring from the poolside speakers. The happy tune created a bizarre backdrop to our serious tone.
Wrong approach, Shig, I thought. We need the truth. I walked over to Tiff, placed my hands on my hips, and said, “I can’t believe Rick was taken by some magical smoke. Maybe the smoke was actually coming from a prop like a hose or something.”
“I don’t care what you believe. I know what I saw. I don’t need this.” Upset, Tiff stormed off to the sliding glass door and opened it. My mom met her on the other side holding our phone. Tiff backed away from it like it was toxic.
“Oh, sweetheart, it’s only a phone. Hand it to Jakob for me,” my mom said, puzzled, as she handed it to Tiff. Tiff held it like it had cooties, which drew another odd stare from my mom.
“It’s for you, honey,” my mom said to me. “I’m running up to the store with the girls.” She smiled then closed the slider.
“Here!” Tiff said, quickly shoving the phone into my chest.
I looked straight into Tiff’s anxious eyes and said, “Hey, I’m sorry. Please stay.” I put the phone up to my ear. “Hello.”
“Jakob Jablonski?” I didn’t recognize the voice, but it was strangely loud, like the phone was on speaker even though it wasn’t. Tiff was staring at the phone intensely. I hesitated then pressed speaker and held the phone out so the others could hear better.
“Yeah,” I said, eyeing the gang.
“You do not answer your e-mails,” the voice said.
“Oh no!” Tiff cried, stepping back.
The voice was male, slow and deliberate, and rolled its Rs as if Scottish. The accent reminded me of Fleep’s mom, who was born in Scotland and did the same thing when she got excited or angry. Suddenly there was a sniffing sound coming from the phone.
“Oh, what is that smell?” the voice asked. “Tiff? How conveniently perfect.” Tiff’s eyes widened. The voice continued, “Jakob.” I was too stunned to answer him and too busy reminding myself that you can’t smell through the phone. “Jakob!” the voice shouted, demanding my attention.
“Yes,” I said, startled.
“I have someone you want to speak to.”
“Who—”
“Don’t do it! Don’t believe him! Whatever he says is a lie! Listen to Tiff. She knows everything. I can break out of here! Tiff, light the wall in the—” It was Rick’s voice. Then we heard a struggle and rustling.
“Rick! Rick!” Tiff shouted. Tiff held her hands over her mouth and started crying. This was no joke!
“That will do,” the Scottish voice said calmly. I could still hear Rick shouting in the background, then there was a thunderous crackle, like a lightning strike, and Rick’s voice was no more.
Tiff charged the phone. “What was that noise? What did you do to him? Let me talk to him!” Tiff demanded.
“He is … napping,” the voice said coolly.
Tiff was seething and paced around like a caged lion. “You let him go or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” the voice cut in angrily then sighed. “I’ll tell you what you’ll do. You will have Jakob make things right. That’s what you’ll do. This is all his fault.”
“What?” I blurted out. “How is any of this my fault?”
“You don’t believe in the curse, and I’ll wager that, up until now, you didn’t believe Tiff’s story about Rick disappearing. You have to see it to believe it. Isn’t that right, Jakob?”
“No, I don’t,” I said, taken aback. It wasn’t like that. I didn’t trust Rick; everyone knew that. It had nothing to do with seeing.
“Well, how about I give you something to see. Watch as I take your friends and teach you a lesson you’ll never forget. Then maybe you will do as you’re supposed to.”
I looked around but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Then the pain hit me just as Logan screamed. “Jakob, your hand is smoking!”
I looked down and saw it was actually the phone that was smoking. It had suddenly become burning hot. My hand felt like I had just touched a hot stove. Yeah, I’ve touched a hot stove and don’t recommend it. I dropped the phone and shouted some indiscernible words on my way to the pool’s edge. I punched my hand into the water and held it there for a minute. Surprisingly the pain was already subsiding, leaving no throbbing, nothing. Odd, I thought. Slowly I removed my hand from the water, expecting to see red, blistery flesh. But I was fine. How could that be? Not that I wanted my hand to look like zombie flesh, but the pain I’d felt was so real, so intense, and yet there was no sign of injury or lingering pain.
“Nashash smoke!” Tiff stammered then pointed to the phone. It was billowing thick, gray smoke that seemed to be transforming into a large hand—a King Kong-sized hand.
“Nash-what smoke? What’s happening?” I begged.
“It’s him!” she said, backing away from the smoke. “It’s S.R.!”
Ever curious, Shig stepped closer to the phone just as Tiff shouted, “Watch out!” I spun around as the giant, smoky hand grabbed Shig.
“Say good-bye to your friend,” the amplified voice said from the phone.
We charged for Shig but didn’t get far. Another gray, smoky hand instantly surrounded us, then transformed into a spinning, tornado-like cloud. Seconds later I was lifted off my feet, forced to the center of the mini-tornado, and pressed against Fleep, Tiff, and Logan. We screamed as the force held us captive.
The spinning continued, going faster and faster, pressing us closer to each other and forcing unbearable pressure against my body. It felt like I was on a carnival ride gone bad. Just before the last of my consciousness drained from me, the pressure dwindled, but there was still no break in the spin. Now wind began pressing down on us from above. I could barely move; breathing became difficult. The air was being sucked out of whatever it was we were in. Struggling and gasping,
I felt sheer terror. Was this my last breath of air?
My knees took the brunt of the impact as the powerful force slammed me down on the pavers. Another blast of unseen and unrelenting pressure was pressing against my back. I tried to fight the force by holding myself in a push-up position, but the heaviness was too great. My arms buckled, collapsing me slightly forward through the smoky tunnel. As soon as my body touched the smoky wall, I heard a loud, crackling shriek. The mini-tornado instantly stopped—the spinning and crushing force were gone, and the smoky tunnel was disintegrating. I quickly stood and came eye to eye with a groggy Tiff, Logan, and Fleep. As I walked through the remaining smoke, there was another loud shriek and the smoke slithered and retracted back into the phone. Was the smoke injured?
“Did you just do that? Did you just stop the tunnel?” Tiff yelled.
“No—I don’t know. It just stopped,” I yelled back.
“It doesn’t just stop!”
Suddenly I heard more wind to my right. Shig! He was still struggling in the smoky, hand-shaped cloud. It looked like he was suffocating. I ignored Tiff and ran over to Shig, expecting the gray smoke around him to fade away too, but it didn’t. In fact, things got a lot worse.
Another smoky wind tunnel grew out from the phone, only this one was as black as coal, and quickly surrounded Tiff again. Panic-stricken and struggling, she managed to reach out through the smoke. It was a short-lived plea for help. Her arms were thrust to her side, her long hair flew out of control, and her clothes rippled against the strong wind. Tiff tried again to raise her hands but couldn’t. Then I saw her finger struggling to touch the smoke. It was almost like she was sending me a message—to touch the smoke. That’s when I remembered what she said … it doesn’t stop on its own. I must have stopped the gray smoke before by touching it.
I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I had a decision to make and soon. I wanted to help Tiff, trust me I did, but Shig was in worse shape. Still in the smoky cloud, Shig was on his knees, holding his arms up. His hands were now beginning to disintegrate into smoke too and were being sucked into the phone. What had happened to Rick was happening to Shig!