A Midsummer Night's Scream

by Stine, R. L.

  “You want me to go with you or something?” Jake asked her.

  She rolled her eyes. “No thanks. Listen, Claire, lock the doors, okay? Talk to you in the morning.” She hurried out.

  Jake turned to me. “What was that about?”

  “I’ll tell you,” I said. I motioned for him to sit at the kitchen counter. “I had a scary night. I—”

  He dropped onto one of the tall stools, and I took the one beside him. “Hey, Claire, did you talk to Delia?”

  “Talk to Delia?”

  “You know,” he said. “Did you ever tell Delia I’m kind of hot for her?”

  I raised my hands to strangle him. That was the last straw. If I killed him now, it would be justifiable homicide.

  But I suddenly had a better idea.

  I scooted off the kitchen stool. “Jake, I’ll be right back. Don’t move, okay?”

  He folded his arms on the counter and rested his head on them. “Where are you going?”

  “Just don’t move. I’ll be back in a sec.”

  I knew what I had to do. I needed to set things right with Jake right now. Annalee … Delia … He was hot for both of them. And me? I was some kind of insect species he didn’t even see.

  I’d been very patient. But enough was enough. I couldn’t take it anymore.

  And I didn’t have to. I had the potion. The love potion I’d grabbed from that creep Puckerman’s trailer. And the time had come to use it.

  28

  THE POTION WORKS

  UPSTAIRS IN MY BEDROOM, I fumbled around in my bag until my fingers wrapped around the little potion bottle. I pulled it out and squinted at the gray powder inside.

  A few flakes. That’s all it would take, and the whole confusion, the whole waiting for Jake to notice me would be over.

  As I gazed at the little bottle, I believed. I totally believed it would work.

  I jogged back to the kitchen. Yes, my heart was flipping and flopping in my chest. But it wasn’t fear. It wasn’t anxiety. It was excitement.

  I stepped into the bright lights of the kitchen. Jake still had his head down on the counter. I crept up behind him and carefully twisted off the cap to the bottle.

  He started to raise his head.

  “Don’t turn around till I tell you,” I said. “I have a surprise.”

  He snickered. “A surprise?”

  “Don’t turn around,” I repeated. I dipped my thumb and finger into the gray powder. Then I raised my hand over the back of his head and dropped a few tiny flakes onto his hair.

  There’s no one else here. I’ll be the first one he sees. And he’ll be desperately in love with me. Finally.

  I closed the bottle and tucked it into my jeans pocket. “Okay,” I said, “raise your head.”

  He obediently sat up straight. I scooted around the counter and stood in front of him. He stared at me, his face wrinkling in confusion. “Where’s the surprise, Claire?”

  I gave him a teasing smile. “Feel strange or anything?”

  He blinked. “Strange? No. Why? What’s up?”

  “Just wait,” I said, patting his hand. “Wait. Keep watching me and wait.”

  “I don’t get it,” he said.

  I couldn’t hold it in. “I just gave you a love potion, Jake,” I said. Then I dove forward and kissed him. I placed my hands behind his head and pressed my lips hard against his lips. I waited for him to kiss me back.

  But something was wrong.

  His lips felt so dry. Like wrinkled paper.

  “Ohh.” I jumped back to see what was wrong. And I uttered a moan of horror as he started to change.

  His papery lips flaked off like dandruff. Then the color of his eyes faded to gray. The skin on his face … it sagged. It appeared to grow loose, flabby—and a white stubble formed on his cheeks and chin.

  “Oh no. Oh my god,” I moaned. My excitement quickly turned to horror as I watched Jake’s hair fall out in clumps. His forehead appeared to bulge as the hair fell to the counter. The skin on his forehead became pale and scaly. In seconds, he was totally bald except for a fringe of white hair around his ears.

  His body slumped over the counter. He seemed to grow smaller. Like he was disappearing into his shirt, which hung loose around him.

  It took less than a minute. I hadn’t moved the whole time. I could still feel the taste of his powdery lips on mine. I stood there with my hands pressed to my cheeks, watching … watching without breathing.

  Watching Jake turn into an old man.

  Yes. I stared at an old Jake. At least eighty or ninety years old.

  He blinked his eyes and coughed. His gray eyes were watery. The skin on his bald head was peeling. He clicked his teeth a few times. Then he glanced at the kitchen clock over my shoulder. “Past my bedtime,” he croaked in a hoarse, old man’s voice. “How’d it get to be so late?”

  29

  DARLENE DIES AGAIN

  “DEE, YOU’VE GOT TO COME BACK. I … I don’t know what to do.”

  “I can’t, Claire. I just pulled into my driveway. Mom is watching me from the window.”

  “But I need help. Don’t you understand? I stole the wrong potion from Puckerman’s trailer. Again.”

  “Another hate potion? You didn’t! What’s Jake doing? Is he threatening you?”

  “No. No. You don’t understand. It must be an aging potion. He’s like sitting there half asleep. He keeps clicking his teeth and making horrible breathing noises. Like he has asthma or something. He … he looks horrible, Dee. He’s ancient. I mean, I made him totally old.”

  “Claire, you’re screaming. Take a breath.”

  “He just rubbed his face with his hands. His hands are all wrinkled and they have ugly brown spots all over the backs. He’s totally bald, Dee. What can I do? Who can I call? Do you think he’s going to die?”

  “Why? Is he sick? Just because he’s old doesn’t mean—”

  “I could go to prison for this, right? How will I tell his parents? What can I say? I—I … can’t think straight. I need help.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m backing down the driveway. I’m coming back. But I don’t see what I can do to help. I mean—”

  “Oh, wait. Delia. Wait. Something’s happening to him.”

  “Is he dying?”

  “No. I don’t know. He’s sort of squirming on the kitchen stool. He keeps blinking. Oh my god. Oh my god. Have I killed him? Have I killed Jake? What’s happening to him?”

  “Try to stay calm, Claire. You’re totally freaking me out, and I can’t even see him. Hey—I just went through a stop sign. Oh, wow. It’s past the curfew, right? I’m not supposed to be driving.”

  “He … he’s changing again, Delia. His face—it’s like tightening up. I’m staring at his hands. The brown spots faded away. He … he sat up straight. I don’t believe it. His hair is growing back. It’s like one of those reverse movies. He’s growing young. Really. He—”

  “It wore off? The potion wore off? Just like when we gave him and Shawn that hate potion?”

  “Yes. I think so. His eyes are blue again. He’s staring hard at me. I wonder if he’ll remember … if he realizes … I’m getting off, Dee. You’d better go home. I think it’s okay here. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

  Jake gripped the edge of the counter as if trying to keep his balance. He was back to himself. At least, he looked like himself. His hair was just as thick and unruly as before, his eyes the old clear blue, his face young, hands unwrinkled.

  He blinked a few more times. Then he turned to me. “Hey, Claire, you have anything to eat? I’m suddenly like totally starving.”

  * * *

  The next day, Delia and I watched the last part of the original Mayhem Manor movie again.

  I know it’s crazy. But everything happening was making us crazy. Wouldn’t you be a little insane?

  The studio was still closed down while the police investigated the two accidents. Jake was back to himself and didn’t remember a thing about last night
. He and Shawn were at the beach, in Santa Monica, I think. Mom was in New York. Dad was in Chicago. Taffy was under the couch.

  Normal life, if you live my life. But I didn’t feel like it was normal. I felt like something really terrifying was going on here, and maybe the most terrifying part was still to come.

  Just one of my crazy hunches? Maybe. But for once, Delia agreed with me. And so we decided to watch some of the old film again, just to see if maybe there was a clue there. Something we missed. Something that might help us get through this film shoot alive.

  We both grabbed bottles of coconut water from the fridge and made our way downstairs to my family’s screening room. Dad had been watching rushes from Please Don’t, the comedy the studio was producing. I found the Mayhem Manor DVD under a stack of new movie disks.

  I slid it into the player, adjusted the volume, then skipped past the Cindy and Randy dying scenes. I wanted to watch Darlene die again. After all, I was Darlene.

  I dropped down beside Dee in the front row of seats. I wanted to watch Darlene’s scene—and I didn’t want to watch it. I had this heavy feeling of dread I’d never known before, like a two-ton weight pressing me down. It isn’t easy to watch someone actually dying.

  The black-and-white images reflected off the screen, their shadows dancing over the two of us. It made me feel like I was part of the old film.

  I took a long gulp of the sweet water. I hadn’t felt hungry for days. But now I felt empty, like something was gnawing at my stomach.

  “Only four kids left,” Delia said. “Sue, Tony, Brian, and Darlene.” She took a long drink from the water bottle. “This is why I hate horror movies. There’s too much horror.”

  For some reason, that made us both burst out laughing.

  When the scene began, the teens were frantic. Darlene was crying. She knelt down beside Randy and held him by the shoulders. He was sprawled dead on the floor. His skin was burned black.

  Tony banged his fists on the wall angrily. Brian stared wide-eyed as if he’d gone into a trance. “We’ve got to get it together,” Tony said. “We’ve got to think, think…”

  “We’ve got to get out of this house before … before someone kills us all,” Brian said, sounding as if he had trouble remembering his lines.

  Darlene set Randy’s charred head down. Then she climbed to her feet. “Brian is right. Let’s go. Let’s just get out.”

  “Who is doing this to us?” Brian cried, pressing his hands to the sides of his face. “What crazy maniac wants to kill us all?”

  Tony shook his head at Brian. “Get it together, man. If you lose your cool now, you’ll never get out of here.”

  “Upstairs,” Darlene said. “Maybe we can climb out an upstairs window.”

  “Oh, wow,” Delia murmured. “Don’t do it, Darlene. Don’t run up those stairs.”

  I could feel all my muscles tense. I had seen this scene before. But, of course, I didn’t know then that I’d be the one running up the steps.

  The four teens stood at the bottom of the steep stairway. They gazed up into the darkness at the top. They hesitated.

  “Are you sure you want to go up there?” Brian asked. “It’s so dark, man.”

  “We have no choice,” Darlene said, pushing the two boys aside, “if we want to get out of this house alive.” She raised her foot to the first step. “Follow me.”

  “Don’t do it! Don’t do it!” Delia screamed at the screen.

  But we watched Darlene go running up the creaky old steps.

  I gasped as she fell. The camera angle went higher, and once again I saw there was no step there. The top boards were missing. It was an open hole.

  Darlene screamed as her whole body dropped into the hole. She fell quickly. She raised her arms to stop herself, but she wasn’t quick enough. Her shrill scream was cut off by a sickening craaack.

  The sound of her neck breaking.

  “Turn it off! STOP it!” Delia cried, covering her face. “STOP it!”

  “No. Wait,” I said. “Look. Delia, look.” I shook her. I forced her to open her eyes.

  And we both stared at the little man who appeared briefly at the end of Darlene’s death scene. The bearded, hairy little man who suddenly popped onto the set.

  “It’s him!” I screamed. “Puckerman.”

  Delia squinted at the screen. “The little fur ball?”

  “Yes,” I cried. “Yes. But how can that be? That was sixty years ago! And look at him. He looks exactly the same.”

  The screen went blank.

  “I’ve never seen him,” Delia said. “You’re the only one who’s seen him. Are you sure it’s the same dude? It can’t be—can it?”

  “It is,” I murmured. “It’s him.”

  “But—how? How could the same weird little guy be there? What was he doing there?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, feeling a chill roll down my back. “But I’m going to find out.”

  30

  SHOULD SHE BE AFRAID?

  THE STUDIO WAS REOPENED THE next morning. I got a call to be on the set at nine.

  I drove there early because I had a mission to accomplish before I returned to Mayhem Manor. My plan was to confront Benny Puckerman, to insist he answer my questions. I planned to stay in his face until he explained everything.

  It was a horror-movie-type day. Dark with low storm clouds rolling rapidly overhead. Swirling winds pushed my car from side to side as I inched through rush-hour traffic to Burbank.

  Three patrol cars were parked outside the executive lot. The police investigation was continuing. I found a parking space in the back, worked up my courage, and, ducking under a few scattered raindrops, started toward Puckerman’s trailer.

  I passed the row of executive cottages, still dark and empty. The wardrobe building loomed in front of me at the end of the street. I turned and made my way to the side of the building.

  “Mr. Puckerman—uh—Puck? I need you to answer some questions.” I rehearsed how I would begin. My voice came out high and shaky. I didn’t realize how nervous I felt.

  I started along the wardrobe building wall—and stopped. “Oh, wow,” I murmured. I blinked two or three times. No trailer. It wasn’t there. The narrow road stretched to the back of the building and ended with a dark fence.

  “Perfect,” I muttered. “He’s gone.” Had he moved his trailer to another part of the studio?

  I turned and started toward the commissary. I was so early I had time for a cup of coffee. Wiping a raindrop off my forehead, I saw Betty Hecht hunched at the front door of the wardrobe building. Her red hair was tucked into the hood of a yellow rain slicker. She was struggling with the key to the door.

  She called out when she saw me walk by. “Claire? Need an umbrella? I think it’s going to pour.”

  “I’m okay,” I said. I took a few steps toward her. “You’re here early.”

  She got the key to work and pushed open the door. “Yes. I got an early call. Lots of wardrobe changes at Please Don’t today.” She sighed. “Everyone’s eager to get back to work after … after all the trouble.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “Can I ask you a question?” I pointed. “The trailer at the side of the building? Did they move it?”

  She pulled back the slicker hood and shook out her hair. “Trailer?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “The one that was right back there?”

  “There’s no trailer over there,” she said. “What kind of trailer?”

  “There was a man inside it and all kinds of jars and bottles. A short little man with a black beard and bushy black hair.”

  She made a face, thinking hard. “Claire, do you think we should call security? You saw a suspicious man behind this building?”

  “He said his name was Puckerman,” I said.

  She frowned. “Sounds like a made-up name. I’d better call the studio guards right away. We have to report anything we see after these horrible deaths.”

  “I … I don’t think he was dangerous,” I s
aid. “I mean, he was sitting in the trailer. Like he belonged there.”

  “But there is no trailer,” she insisted.

  I decided not to tell Betty about the magic potions. She would probably think I was making some kind of joke, pulling a prank.

  “I’ll tell my dad about it,” I said. “Take care, Betty. I’d better get to the set.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open,” she called as I hurried away. “Can’t be too careful these days.”

  * * *

  The morning rehearsal went okay, although it was hard to get used to the gray-uniformed security guys crawling everywhere like ants. We all knew why they were there, but it was still creepy to have these tough-looking dudes watching our every move. And they all had revolvers in holsters at their waists.

  Was I tense much? Three guesses. I knew the stairway scene was coming up tomorrow, and I had to convince myself over and over that I wasn’t going to die the way Darlene in the old movie died.

  Delia seemed more worried than anyone. “I promise I’ll make sure they double-check every stair,” she said. “No way there will be a hole for you to fall in.”

  The rehearsal ended at noon. Les Bachman had afternoon meetings, so he sent us home early.

  * * *

  That night after dinner, I was on my way to my room to text Jake and see if he wanted to hang out. And I wanted to make sure he hadn’t turned back into a ninety-year-old again. I knew I’d have nightmares about that forever.

  But Dad stopped me in the hall. “Claire, do you have a minute to talk?”

  “Sure,” I said. “What’s up? You—you don’t look good.”

  Dad sighed. He definitely looked a lot older. “Guess you might say I’m a little stressed. We can’t have any more accidents on that set. The police … the endless investigation … I don’t want the studio to be known forever just as a death scene.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “I’ll be honest with you. After all the trouble, we probably should stop this production. But if we do, the studio will fold. It’s do or die for us. We’re under a lot of pressure, Claire.”

  He guided me into the den. He motioned for me to sit in the black leather armchair. Then he dropped wearily into the armchair beside me. He sighed again. “Maybe we should just call it a day. I don’t know. The Castellanos want to shut it down. We know we’re facing lawsuits from Lana and from Jeremy Dane’s people. It’s going to be expensive.”