36 - The Haunted Mask II

by R. L. Stine - (ebook by Undead)

  “It’s okay. But it didn’t fool us,” Chuck said.

  “Yeah. We knew it was a fake,” I quickly agreed. But my voice cracked when I said it. I was still kind of in shock.

  Sabrina shook her head. Her black ponytail waved behind her. Sabrina is very tall, taller than Chuck and me. Carly Beth is a shrimp. She only comes up to Sabrina’s shoulder.

  “You should have seen the looks on your faces!” Sabrina exclaimed. “I thought your heads were going to fall off!”

  The two girls hugged each other again and had another good laugh.

  “We saw you a mile away,” Carly Beth said, twirling the head in her hands. “Luckily, I brought this head in to show off in art class today. So I pulled my jacket over my head, and Sabrina tucked the plaster head into the collar.”

  “You guys scare pretty easy,” Sabrina smirked.

  “We weren’t scared. Really,” Chuck insisted. “We were just playing along.”

  I wanted to change the subject. The girls would talk all day and night about how dumb Chuck and I were. If we let them. I didn’t want to let them.

  The rain kept pattering down, blown by the gusting wind. I shivered. We were all getting pretty wet.

  “Carly Beth, you know that mask you wore last Halloween? Where did you get it?” I asked. I tried to sound casual. I didn’t want her to think it was any big deal.

  She hugged her plaster head against the front of her jacket. “Huh? What mask?”

  I groaned. She is such a jerk sometimes!

  “Remember that really scary mask you had last Halloween? Where did you get it?”

  She and Sabrina exchanged glances. Then Carly Beth said, “I don’t remember.”

  “Give me a break!” I groaned.

  “No. Really—” she insisted.

  “You remember,” Chuck told her. “You just don’t want to tell.”

  I knew why Carly Beth didn’t want to tell. She was probably planning to get another truly terrifying mask at the same store for this Halloween. She wanted to be the scariest kid in town. She didn’t want me to be scary too.

  I turned to Sabrina. “Do you know where she bought that mask?”

  Sabrina made a zipper motion over her lips. “I’m not telling, Steve.”

  “You don’t want to know,” Carly Beth declared, still hugging the head. “That mask was too frightening.”

  “You just want to be scarier than me,” I replied angrily. “But I need a really scary mask this year, Carly Beth. There are some kids I want to scare and—”

  “I’m serious, Steve,” Carly Beth interrupted. “There was something totally weird about the mask. It wasn’t just a mask. It came alive. It clamped onto my head, and I couldn’t get it off. The mask was haunted or something.”

  “Ha-ha,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “She’s telling the truth!” Sabrina cried, narrowing her dark eyes at me.

  “The mask was evil,” Carly Beth continued. “It started giving me orders. It started talking all by itself, in a horrible, harsh growl. I couldn’t control it. And I couldn’t get it off. It was attached to my head! I—I was so scared!”

  “Oh, wow,” Chuck murmured, shaking his head. “You’ve got a good imagination, Carly Beth.”

  “Good story,” I agreed. “Save it for English class.”

  “But it’s the truth!” Carly Beth cried.

  “You just don’t want me to be scary,” I grumbled. “But I need a good, scary mask like that one. Come on,” I begged. “Tell.”

  “Tell us,” Chuck insisted.

  “Tell,” I repeated, trying to sound tough.

  “No way,” Carly Beth replied, shaking her fake round, little head. “Let’s get home. It’s really raining hard.”

  “Not till you tell!” I cried. I stepped in front of her to block her path.

  “Grab the head!” Chuck cried.

  I grabbed the plaster head from Carly Beth’s hands.

  “Give it back!” she shrieked. She swiped at it, but I swung it out of her reach. Then I tossed it to Chuck.

  He backed away. Sabrina chased after him. “Give that back to her!”

  “We’ll give it back when you tell us where you bought that mask!” I told Carly Beth.

  “No way!” she cried.

  Chuck tossed the head to me. Carly Beth made a wild grab for it. But I caught it and heaved it back to Chuck.

  “Give it back! Come on!” Carly Beth cried, running after Chuck. “My mom made that. If it gets messed up, she’ll kill me!”

  “Then tell me where you bought the mask!” I insisted.

  Chuck tossed the head to me. Sabrina jumped up and batted it down. She made a wild dive for it, but I got there first. I picked it up off the grass and heaved it back to Chuck.

  “Stop it! Give it back!”

  Both girls were screaming angrily. But Chuck and I kept up our game of keep-away.

  Carly Beth made a frantic leap for the head and fell on her stomach onto the grass. When she stood up, the front of her jacket and her jeans were soaked, and she had grass stains on her forehead.

  “Tell!” I insisted, holding the head high in the air. “Tell, and you can have the head back!”

  She growled at me.

  “Okay,” I warned her. “I guess I have to drop-kick it onto that roof.”

  I turned toward the house at the top of the lawn. Then I held the head in front of me in both hands and pretended I was going to punt it onto the roof.

  “Okay, okay!” Carly Beth cried. “Don’t kick it, Steve.”

  I kept the head in front of me. “Where did you get the mask?”

  “You know that weird little party store a couple of blocks from school?”

  I nodded. I had seen the store, but I had never gone in.

  “That’s where I bought it. There’s a back room. It was filled with weird, ugly masks. That’s where I got mine.”

  “All right!” I cried happily. I handed Carly Beth back her head.

  “You guys are creeps,” Sabrina muttered, pulling her collar up against the rain. She pushed me out of the way and wiped the grass stain off Carly Beth’s forehead.

  “I really didn’t want to tell you,” Carly Beth moaned. “I wasn’t making that story up about the mask. It was so terrifying.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” I rolled my eyes again.

  “Please, don’t go there!” Carly Beth begged. She grabbed my arm tightly. “Please, Steve. Please, don’t go to that party store!”

  I pulled my arm away. I narrowed my eyes at her. And I laughed.

  Too bad I didn’t take her seriously.

  Too bad I didn’t listen to her.

  It might have saved me from a night of endless horror.

  5

  “Get off me! Get off me, Marnie! I mean it!” I shouted.

  The little redheaded pest hung onto my back, laughing and digging her pudgy fingers into my neck. Why did she think I was some kind of thrill ride?

  “Get off! This is my good sweater!” I cried. “If you wreck it—”

  She laughed even harder.

  It had rained all night and all morning. But the clouds had parted at lunchtime. Now the sky was blue and clear. I had no choice. I had to hold soccer practice for the Hogs.

  Across the playground, I saw Duck Benton fighting with Andrew Foster. Andrew picked up the soccer ball and heaved it with all his might into Duck’s stomach.

  Duck’s mouth shot open. He let out a whoosh of breath, and a huge wad of bubblegum went flying into the air.

  “Get off!” I pleaded with Marnie. I tried spinning and twirling as fast as I could, trying to throw her off my back. I knew if anything happened to this sweater, Mom would have a fit.

  You might ask why I was wearing my best, blue wool sweater to soccer practice. Good question.

  The answer is: It was Class Photo Day. And Mom wanted me to take a really good picture to send to all my aunts and uncles. She made me wear the sweater. And she made me shampoo my hair before school and
not wear my Orlando Magic cap over it.

  So I looked like a jerk all day. And now, here was soccer practice. And I had forgotten to bring a sweatshirt or something to replace my good sweater.

  “Whoooooa!” Marnie gave me a final kick in the side as she hopped off my back.

  I pulled down my sweater, hoping it wasn’t stretched too badly. I heard angry shouts and glanced up to find Andrew and Duck swinging their fists at each other and butting heads across the field.

  I reached for my whistle.

  And grabbed air.

  Marnie had swiped it. She held it high above her head and ran, laughing, over the grass.

  “Hey, you—!” I screamed, chasing after the little thief.

  I took three steps—and my sneakers slid in the mud. My feet flew out from under me. With an angry cry, I fell forward. And landed on my stomach in deep, wet mud.

  “Noooooo!” I let out a howl of dread. “Please. Nooooo!”

  But when I pulled myself up, the mud came with me. My entire body was caked in thick, wet mud. My beautiful blue sweater? It was now an ugly brown sweater.

  With a sad groan, I sank back onto the ground. I just wanted to disappear, to sink from sight into the big mud hole.

  My faithful team, the Horrible Hogs, were laughing and hooting. They thought it was a riot. Nice kids, huh?

  At least my mud dive had stopped Andrew and Duck from fighting.

  The mud weighed me down as I climbed slowly to my feet. I felt like Andrew. I felt as if I weighed a thousand pounds. Maybe I did!

  I wiped mud off my eyes with both hands—and saw Chuck standing over me. He tsk-tsked a few times. “You look really bad, man.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered.

  “Why did you do that?” he asked.

  I squinted through two inches of mud at him. “Excuse me?”

  “You look like a Mud Monster or something.” Chuck snickered.

  “Ha-ha,” I said glumly.

  “You told me to meet you here, Steve. You said we were going straight to that party store to buy the you-know-what.”

  He glanced back at my team of first graders. They weren’t listening to our conversation. They were too busy flinging mud balls at each other.

  I scooped my hand along the front of my sweater and scraped off about ten pounds of glop. “I… uh… I think I’d better go home after practice and get changed first,” I told Chuck.

  Talk about your long afternoons!

  I had to break up the mud ball fight. Then I had to hand over all of the little angels to their parents and baby-sitters.

  Then I had to explain to their angry parents and baby-sitters why they had practiced mud ball fighting instead of soccer.

  I crept home. Chuck waited for me outside. I hid my mud-caked clothes in the back of my closet. I didn’t have time to explain to my mom.

  Then I changed into a clean pair of jeans and a gray-and-red Georgetown Hoyas sweatshirt one of my uncles had sent me. I don’t know anything about the Hoyas. I don’t even know what a Hoya is. But it is a cool sweatshirt.

  I pulled my cap down over my mud-drenched hair. Then I hurried to meet Chuck.

  “Steve—is that you?” Mom called from the den.

  “No, it isn’t!” I called back. I closed the front door behind me and ran down the driveway before she could stop me from going out again.

  I was really eager to find that party store and check out the weird masks. So eager, I forgot to bring any money with me.

  Chuck and I walked two blocks before I reached into my jeans pocket and realized it was empty. We jogged back to my house, and I crept up to my room once again.

  “This just isn’t my day,” I muttered to myself.

  But I knew that buying a really gross and frightening mask would instantly cheer me up. Then I could go ahead with my plan to terrify the Hogs, to get my revenge.

  Revenge!

  What a beautiful word.

  When I’m older and have my own car, that’s what I want it to say on my license plate.

  I pulled all of my allowance money out of the dresser drawer where I hide it. I counted it quickly—about twenty-five dollars. Then I jammed the bills into my jeans pocket and hurried back downstairs.

  “Steve—are you going out again?” Mom called from the den.

  “Be right back!” I shouted. I slammed the front door and ran down the driveway to meet Chuck.

  Our sneakers slid over fat, wet leaves as we walked. A pale full moon hung low over the trees.

  The streets and sidewalks still glistened from all the rain.

  Chuck had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt. He leaned into the wind as we walked. “I’m going to be late for dinner,” he grumbled. “I’m probably going to get into major trouble.”

  “It’ll be worth it,” I told him, feeling a little more cheerful. We crossed the street that led to the party store. A small grocery stood on the corner. Other small shops came into view.

  “I can’t wait to see these masks!” I exclaimed. “If I find one just half as scary as Carly Beth’s…”

  There it stood! In the darkness above a small, square store, I could make out the sign: THE PARTY PLACE.

  “Let’s check it out!” I cried.

  I leaped over a fire hydrant.

  Flew over the sidewalk. Up to the big front window.

  And peered in the window.

  6

  “Oh, wow!” Chuck cried breathlessly, stepping up beside me.

  We both pressed our faces against the window glass and stared in.

  Stared into total darkness.

  “Is it closed?” Chuck asked softly. “Maybe it’s just closed for the night.”

  I uttered an unhappy sigh. “No way. It’s closed for good. The store is gone.”

  Peering through the dust-smeared glass, I could see empty shelves and display racks inside. A tall metal shelf lay on its side across the center aisle. A trash basket, overflowing with paper and empty soda cans, stood on top of the counter.

  “There’s no ‘Out of Business’ sign on the door,” Chuck said. He’s a good friend. He saw how disappointed I looked. He was trying to stay hopeful.

  “It’s empty.” I sighed. “Totally cleaned out. It isn’t going to open up again tomorrow morning.”

  “Yeah. Guess you’re right,” Chuck murmured.

  He slapped my shoulder. “Yo—snap out of it. You’ll find a scary mask at some other store.”

  I pushed myself away from the window. “I wanted one like Carly Beth’s,” I complained. “You remember that mask. You remember those glowing eyes, right? And the way the mouth moved. The way it growled at us with those long, dripping fangs. It was so gross. And it looked totally real. Like a real monster!”

  “They probably have masks like that at K-Mart,” Chuck said.

  “Give me a break,” I muttered. I kicked at a candy wrapper that blew across the sidewalk.

  A car rumbled past slowly. Its headlights rolled over the front of the store, lighting up the bare shelves, the empty counters inside.

  “We’d better get home,” Chuck warned, pulling me away from the store. “I’m not allowed to wander around town after dark.”

  He said something else, but I didn’t hear him. I was still picturing Carly Beth’s mask, still unable to get over my disappointment.

  “You don’t understand how important this is to me,” I told Chuck. “Those first graders are ruining my life. I have to pay them back this Halloween. I have to.”

  “They’re just first graders,” he replied.

  “No, they’re not. They’re monsters. Vicious, man-eating monsters.”

  “Maybe we can make a scary mask,” Chuck suggested. “You know. Out of papier-mâché and stuff.”

  I didn’t even bother to answer him. Chuck is a good guy, but sometimes he has the dumbest ideas ever thought up by a human.

  I could just see Marnie Rosen and Duck Benton when I popped out on Halloween
. “Ooh, we’re scared! We’re scared! Papier-mâché!”

  “I’m hungry,” Chuck grumbled. “Come on, Steve. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Yeah. Okay,” I agreed. I started to follow him down the sidewalk—then stopped.

  Another car had turned onto the street. Its headlights rolled over a narrow alley beside the party store.

  “Whoa, Chuck! Check it out!” I grabbed the shoulder of his sweatshirt and spun him around. “Look!” I pointed into the alley. “That door is open!”

  “Huh? What door?”

  I dragged Chuck into the alley. A large black trapdoor in the sidewalk had been left up. It caught the light from a streetlamp on the sidewalk.

  Chuck and I peered in through the door. Steep concrete steps led down to a basement.

  The basement of the party store!

  Chuck turned to me, a confused expression on his face. “So? They left the basement door open. So what?”

  I grabbed the open trapdoor and leaned over the steps, squinting into the dim light from the streetlamp. “There are boxes down there. A whole bunch of cartons.”

  He still didn’t understand.

  “Maybe all the masks and costumes and party things are packed up in those cartons. Maybe the stuff hasn’t been shipped away yet.”

  “Whoa. What are you thinking about?” Chuck demanded. “You’re not going down there—are you? You’re not going to sneak down to that dark basement and try to steal a mask—are you?”

  I didn’t answer him.

  I was already halfway down the stairs.

  7

  My heart began to pound as I made my way down. The steps were narrow and slippery. Slick from all the rain.

  “Ohh!” I let out a cry as one foot slid over the concrete step and I felt myself start to fall. I shot out both hands in search of a railing—but there wasn’t one.

  I landed on the hard basement floor with a loud thud—luckily, on both feet. Feeling shaken, I took a deep breath and held it.

  Then I turned back to the trapdoor and called up to Chuck. “I’m okay. Get down here.”

  In the light from the streetlamp, I could see his unhappy face peering down at me. “I—I really don’t want to,” he called softly.