by David Lubar
“Hidden motors,” he said. “Someone shaking the floor from the room below. Yeah. Tricks. Stupid tricks. Not real.”
He heard glass break. Another scream. High pitched. Then fading. A distant thud—three floors down—ended the scream.
“The hell with this.” Collin threw off the quilt as he rushed to the door. Five hundred dollars was enough. He’d camp out downstairs with the others. He didn’t need the extra thousand. Not that badly.
He grabbed the knob, half-expecting that it would break off in his hand, trapping him in the attic. But the door opened easily.
He stepped onto the stairs, where a frigid blast of air rushed up to greet him. He hadn’t gone more than two steps when he had a vision—not of ghosts from the past but of events from the near future that would be preserved forever on videotape. Sergio would laugh at him. Dufus would make jokes. Barbie would look at him like he was a pathetic loser. And, worst of all, Minnie would comfort him. It’s okay. We all get scared. It’s nothing to be ashamed about. The scared mouse would soothe the thinker.
No way. He looked back at the door. He didn’t believe in haunted houses. But there was definitely something wrong inside that attic. He’d find another room. Too bad he couldn’t build a fire. He’d seen no other fireplaces during the tour. No other beds, either.
But the quilt lay just beyond the doorway. Fighting the image of a sharp-clawed hand snagging his arm, Collin leaned over and grabbed the quilt, then wrapped it around himself.
“Haunted attic,” he muttered as he started down the steps. “Absurd.” The deaths flashed through his mind. Smothered. In bed. Died of fright. In bed. Strangled. In bed.
It wasn’t the attic. It was the bed. He glanced over his shoulder. The frame was now level with his eyes.
No. That was ridiculous. There was no such thing as a haunted bed.
He took another step.
What about the other one? How had that happened? He could see the girl leap from the bed and run toward the window. Fleeing the bed. By why not through the door? Why the window? What had forced her where she wouldn’t want to go?
“Find the pattern,” he said.
He could see her so clearly. Stumbling, staggering … Dragging the quilt.
The quilt.
In the dim light, Collin looked down at the patternless jumble of fabrics. And saw the patterns. The abstract shapes fell together. A man holding a pillow. The murder that had started all of this. He saw all the others that followed. A face bursting with fright. Another gasping for air as fabric wrapped tightly around his throat. An open window.
The quilt.
Screams of past victims flooded his mind. He struggled to tear the quilt loose, but his hands were trapped. The cloth pulled around him like a funeral shroud.
His feet tangled in the tightening quilt.
Collin tripped. He fell. Rolling, tumbling, screaming.
But he was silent when he landed.
The others, still awake and talking by the fire, came hesitantly up the steps. A moment later, they were joined by the production crew, which was monitoring everything from a trailer parked behind the house.
They stood and stared at the body. Nobody noticed, along one side of the quilt that had tangled around Collin, a colorful arrangement of cloth that, when viewed at just the right angle, seemed to show a man falling down a flight of stairs.
Nobody noticed any of the patterns.
Free Seas
“Which boat is it?”
“Shhh. Quiet. It’s Pace Cruise Lines,” Steven whispered. He crouched down on the pier next to Mary.
“There. That’s it,” she said.
“Yeah. Good job.” Steven felt a rush of adrenaline shoot through his gut when he realized they were going to do it. Not just talk and plan. Not just daydream. Really do it. There was the ship. He could see most of the name, except for a couple of letters that were blocked by a cargo crane. There was the P on the left, then the E on the other side of the crane arm, followed by CRUISE LINES. It was the ship Brennan Winston had told him about.
“Ready?” he asked Mary.
“You sure about this?” she asked.
“Yeah. It’ll be awesome. We’ll blend right in with the passengers. It’s just for three days. But think about all that food and fun.”
He crept toward the ship, trying to move silently on the old wood of the pier. He could hear Mary slipping along behind him. All they had to do was sneak down below and hide. Brennan had told him how to do it.
“It’s real dark,” Mary complained as they made their way up the walkway and onto the ship.
“Shhh. The passengers aren’t boarding until tomorrow morning. Just follow me.” Steven led Mary down below.
“What if we get caught?” Mary asked when they reached the bottom of the lowest deck, guided only by dim night-lights.
“I told you, they won’t do anything. We’re minors. They’ll just wait until the boat gets back to the dock and make us leave. Keep calm and they won’t catch us. Okay?” Steven reached out and gave her arm a squeeze.
“Okay,” Mary said. “I guess.…”
* * *
The rocking of the boat woke Steven the next morning. “Hey, we made it,” he said, nudging Mary’s shoulder.
She sat up fast, looking startled, and he had to shush her again. “I need a bathroom,” she said.
“No problem,” Steven told her. “Put on your suit and we’ll go up on deck.”
Mary pulled off her shorts and top, revealing she’d worn her suit underneath. Steven grabbed his from his backpack. He noticed that Mary turned around when he changed. She’ll get over it, he told himself.
“Now be cool,” he said. “We belong here. Just keep that in mind and nobody will pay any attention to us.” He opened the door and peeked out. There wasn’t anyone in the hallway. As long as they weren’t spotted coming out of the storage room, there’d be no problem.
Steven braced himself to meet people. He knew the first moments would be the toughest. But all he had to do was nod and smile, or just ignore the other passengers. That would work. Adults expected to be ignored by teens. You’re on vacation, he reminded himself.
They didn’t meet anyone as they climbed the steps from level to level.
“Must be early,” Steven said.
There was nobody on deck.
“This is wrong.” Mary grabbed his arm. “This is really strange.”
“Relax,” Steven said, though he had to fight to keep the calm tone in his voice.
“It’s a ghost ship!” Mary stepped away from him and spun around, as if searching for something to prove her wrong.
“Mary, stop acting crazy,” Steven said. “There’s no such thing as a ghost ship.”
“Yes, there is. Look around. There’s nobody here. Nobody. Just us.” She ran back down the stairs toward the cabins.
Steven cursed and ran after her. He knew he had to calm her down before she got them both in trouble. He managed to catch up with her halfway down the corridor. “Wait. Look, everything is fine. I’ll prove it to you.”
He reached for the nearest doorknob, frantically trying to figure out what to do once he opened the door and came face-to-face with strangers. He realized he could just pretend he had the wrong cabin. That would work. And Mary would see that everything was fine. So would he.
Steven gripped the knob of cabin A37. He figured that the doors were probably locked. But even that might help Mary realize there were people on the other side.
The knob turned smoothly in his hand.
Steven eased the door open and peeked inside. An old guy was lying on the bed, fast asleep.
“See?” Steven whispered.
He waited until Mary nodded, then shut the door. “Look. It must be early. That’s why everyone’s still asleep. Come on. Let’s see if they’ve put out any breakfast yet. I’m starving.”
They went back up.
There was no food.
No waiters.
No
crew.
“This is crazy,” Steven said. He looked around the deck. Then he looked toward the ocean. There was no land in sight. They were far out at sea. “When we get back, I’m going to tell Brennan that Pace Cruise Lines sucks.”
Mary let out a small whimper.
“What now?” Steven asked. He was starting to wish he’d asked someone else to come with him.
“It’s not Pace,” Mary said.
“Huh?” Steven wondered why she was whispering.
Mary didn’t answer him. She pointed up at a mast above them. Steven noticed her hand was shaking.
Fluttering overhead, a flag displayed the name, PYRE CRUISE LINES.
“Pyre,” Steven said. English wasn’t his best subject. The word took a minute to register. When it did, he knew that the man he’d seen in the cabin below wasn’t asleep. The man was dead.
Everyone on the ship was dead.
Pyre. As in funeral pyre.
Music began to play over loudspeakers. Slow, sad music. Beneath his feet, Steven heard the crackle of flames and felt the rising heat of the fire.
In the distance, Steven saw another ship. Squinting, he could make out the name PACE CRUISE LINES on the side. Dots of moving color told him that people were frolicking on deck, having the vacation of a lifetime.
Mary screamed.
The pyre grew. Steven turned to run, but there were flames everywhere.
* * *
“Look?” the first mate asked the passenger, offering his binoculars.
“Thanks,” the man said. He peered across the water at the rising flames. “Wow. Pretty spectacular. What a way to go.”
The mate nodded. “Yeah. At least they’re feeling no pain.” He stood at the deck and watched as the burning funeral ship slowly drifted into the distance. “Rest in peace,” he whispered as the last glow vanished from sight.
Blood Magic
My downfall was a candy bar. Eddy Hilbert had a saltier craving. It was just the two of us in the store, just us and the night clerk. I’d been sitting at home, watching some stupid movie after my parents went to bed, when I’d gotten a craving. The store was only two blocks away.
Eddy came in after me. The clerk didn’t pay much attention to either of us. I nodded toward Eddy. He nodded back. I didn’t really know him. He was one of those kids in school who are sort of transparent. I’d see him in the cafeteria, or pass him in the halls. I couldn’t even remember who he hung out with. Maybe he hung by himself. But we had a common bond. Both of us were about to pay a high price for our desires.
As I took my candy bar to the register, I saw Eddy heading for the chips. I guessed sour cream and onion, but he went for salt and vinegar. Live and learn.
I was reaching for my money when they came in. Two guys, walking fast. No mistake what they were after. Two guys wearing ski masks. One guy clutched a pistol; the other carried a shotgun.
Crap.
I froze. It was definitely not hero time. Not if I wanted to make it past the age of fourteen. Be cool, I told myself. I glanced toward Eddy. He’d frozen, too. Right at the end of the aisle. Smart boy. I’d never, ever been close to anything like this. Once, a kid in the boys’ room at school had flashed around a hunting knife, trying to look dangerous, but he hadn’t scared anyone. This was different. These guys had the power to hurt me. But just because someone has a power doesn’t mean he’ll use it. With luck, they’d clean the register and get out fast.
The guy with the shotgun stood back, covering me and Eddy. The other guy pointed his pistol at the clerk and said, “Now!”
The clerk opened the register with shaky hands and started stuffing money into a bag. But he got this strange look on his face. Don’t do it, I thought, praying that I was wrong. But as he lifted the bag with his right hand, his left hand went under the counter.
I flinched, expecting him to come up with a gun. But he didn’t. Instead, he fumbled underneath the counter for a second like he was feeling around for something. I had no idea what he was doing.
But the guy with the shotgun did. “He hit the alarm. Let’s get out of here.”
It’s almost over, I thought. They’d leave now. The edges of my terror eased as I realized I wasn’t going to die.
The guy with the handgun didn’t listen to his buddy. He swore at the clerk, then pulled the trigger.
My guess is the pistol was a .22. It didn’t make much of a pop. Barely more than a hand clap. But it was enough. The clerk straightened up like he’d gotten a jolt of electricity through his body, then dropped to the floor.
“Stu!” the other guy said. “Oh, man—now we’re fried. Come on, the cops gotta be coming.”
“No names, you idiot!” Stu shouted. He turned toward me, raised his gun, and pointed it at my face. He kept looking from me to the counter and then back, as if trying to decide whether one murder was any more of a problem than two. The sight of the open muzzle brought my fears to new heights. I wondered whether to duck and run, or try to dive at him and grab the gun. Whatever I did, there wouldn’t be any second chances.
“Don’t try anything!” Stu told me. “You’re coming with us. Both of you.” He waved the gun away from my head, toward the door.
“You crazy?” the other guy said. “They’re just kids.”
“Hostages,” Stu said. “The cops can’t hurt us if we got hostages.” He aimed the gun back at me. “Move it!”
I moved it. They herded us toward a van, then pushed us in the side door. There were no seats in the back. I sat on the floor. Stu got in the passenger side. The guy with the shotgun slid behind the wheel.
My heart felt like it would explode at any minute. Sweat rolled down my back, pasting my shirt to my skin. Next to me, Eddy seemed strangely calm, like he had everything under control. He whispered something, but I didn’t catch it.
“Easy,” Stu said as the van peeled out of the parking lot. “You don’t want to get us pulled over.”
We shot down the road. I noticed a key chain dangling from the ignition. White plastic with black letters. MIKE’S KEYS.
I looked up. Stu was watching me. He knew what I’d seen.
A moment later, I heard sirens far behind us. Hope flared, then died. The sirens didn’t come our way. They were going to the store. More sirens wailed from ahead, rising in pitch.
“Stay calm,” Stu said. “The cops don’t know it’s us.”
“Me stay calm?” Mike said. “You popped that guy. Why’d you do it?”
“Doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Stu said. Then he did something that pushed my fear back to the edge again. He took off his ski mask. “Damn thing’s too hot,” he said. “Take yours off, Mike. Don’t want the cops seeing it.”
The van swerved briefly as Mike took one hand from the wheel and pulled off his mask.
I looked away, but it was too late. I’d seen their faces. The sirens blared past us, rushing toward the scene of the crime. Blue and red flashes reflected off the windows and then vanished.
Odds were, I was dead. I knew their names. I knew their faces. Stu had already killed one person. There was nothing to keep him from killing two more. As soon as he no longer needed hostages, we were dead.
That was when Eddy decided to break his silence. “Hey, you freakin’ moron, let us go.”
I hadn’t believed things could get worse. What was Eddy thinking?
He crawled forward and put a hand on the back of Stu’s seat. “Come on, let us go.”
“You want some of this?” Stu said, pressing the barrel of the gun against Eddy’s forehead.
Eddy backed off. I had no idea what he was trying to do. He whispered something again. My blood? Was that what he was trying to say? There’d already been enough blood spilled. I didn’t want to add mine to the pool.
“Stu, they’ve seen us with our masks off,” Mike said.
“Yeah, I know.” Stu raised the gun again. He looked like he was trying to make a decision.
I stared down at the floor. “I didn’
t see anything.”
The van swung through a sharp curve. For a moment, I leaned against the door to keep from falling over. Then we straightened out. My hand rested against the door handle.
“Don’t try it,” Stu said.
Would he shoot me if I rolled out the door? It probably wouldn’t matter. Not once I hit the road. I let my hand drop. My mind raced through a thousand blind alleys, looking for a way to stay alive. I saw one chance. “Hey, you shoot us, that’s premeditated,” I said. I didn’t know a lot about the law, but maybe this would make a difference to him.
“No, I shoot you, that’s pretty messy,” Stu said. He laughed. The sound made my skin tingle.
“Then do it,” Eddy said. He held up his hand. “Come on. You like it so much. Do it piece by piece.” He thrust his hand out, fingers spread, palm facing Stu.
Two killers and a crazy hostage. Even my nightmares weren’t this bad. I braced myself, expecting that the crack of a .22 would be a lot louder inside the van than it had been in the convenience store.
Stu aimed the gun lower. “How about a kneecap? Should I start there? Would you like that?”
My own guts twitched at the thought of a kneecap exploding. I figured Eddy would stop. But he wiggled his fingers. “What’s the matter, Stu? Too hard a target? Here, let me move it closer for you.” He pushed his hand toward Stu, like a cop stopping traffic.
Stu made this face. I’d seen it before. It was the face of a parent who’s gotten tired of his kid asking for something over and over and has decided to give it to him just to shut him up.
The gun wasn’t that much louder inside the van.
I saw Eddy’s hand jerk. A little spray of blood shot out the back. The bullet smacked the rear door, cratering the metal. The whole thing seemed so unreal, I just stared. And fought the urge to throw up.
“Happy?” Stu asked.
I would have been rolling on the ground, clutching my hand. Maybe screaming. I play guitar. I’m real careful about my hands. But Eddy hardly flinched. He just held his hand palm up, about six inches from the floor of the van, and watched it bleed.