by R. L. Stine
That football hit me so hard in the gut, I thought I was going to toss my dinner on the couch. And what did Dad do? He laughed.
Ha, ha. What a riot. Dad thinks if he throws enough footballs at me, I'll start to want to learn how to catch them. But I won't.
What I'd really love to do is heave the ball into Colin's gut. I'd love to see the look on his face. Well … actually, he probably wouldn't have a look on his face. Baboons don't have expressions, do they?
He probably wouldn't even feel it. He's always in his room with those workout tapes of his. Perfect Abs. Stomach of Steel. Buns of Titanium.
He has to spend all that time on his body because there's no point in developing a brain that small.
Ha, ha.
Dad thinks Colin is so perfect. Just because he stars in three sports, he's really popular with girls, and has a million friends.
Big deal.
Okay. He's perfect. Colin is perfect.
But there's more to life than being perfect, isn't there?
How about being nice to your little brother?
Could he pass a Lord of the Rings trivia test? No way.
Has he reached Level Seven in Tomb Raider V on PlayStation?
Does he know how Houdini did his famous straitjacket escape? Does he know how any of the great magicians did their tricks? No. But I do.
There's a lot Colin doesn't know.
Why do I have to go to the Plover School? So what if Dad loved it so much? Maybe I don't want to go to a school that will make a man out of me. I'm eleven! I don't want to be a man yet!
I was so steamed, I wanted to punch the wall. But I knew I had to be careful. I need my hands for my magic tricks. Besides, I'd probably cut myself, and I hate the sight of blood.
Can Colin make a live pigeon disappear?
Can he?
I don't think so.
At school, I've been spreading the rumor that Colin wets the bed every night. It isn't true, but so what? I think at least a couple people believe me.
And Dad is wrong. I do have friends. Well, I have one good friend—Aaron.
But Mom and Dad don't want me to be friends with Aaron. They think he's weird. Hey, what's wrong with being a little weird?
Okay, okay. So he wears swim goggles to school every day. He needs glasses, so he had prescription lenses put into them. A little oddball, maybe, but who are they to judge?
He does some other strange things too. For one thing, he never does his homework. He says it takes too much time away from watching TV.
On Career Day, Aaron wrote that he plans to study to be a superhero and fight crime everywhere in the universe. He got an F on that paper, and his parents had to go in for a conference.
Aaron is a little whacked, okay? But he's also a really good friend.
What can I do? I can't let Dad send me to that school. I can't go to a school where you have to wear an ugly gray uniform. I look terrible in gray.
Yes, sir. No, sir. Yes, ma'am. They turn kids into robots at the Plover School. Aaron and I are going to make a video about kids who get turned into robots. But I don't want the movie to be my life story!
I can't let them send me there!
Okay, okay, Max. Easy, boy.
When I'm totally steamed, practicing my magic tricks is the only thing that will settle me down. It works because I have to concentrate really hard on what I'm doing. So I forget about Dad and Big Dude Colin and all my other problems.
I'm going to perform at the Halloween party at school. So I've got to get my act together. No slipups. I want everyone to think my act is really cool.
I mean, I'm not exactly in the cool group at school. I guess I'm not in any group at all. Aaron and I can't be a group on our own, can we?
I'm not the best magician in the world yet. But I'm working on it.
Mom even bought me a white pigeon to practice the disappearing trick with. I named him Joey, and I keep him in a nice big cage near the window so he can see the sunlight.
Making Joey disappear right from my hands is my best trick. And it's the hardest to perform. Mainly because I have to make Joey slide down my jacket sleeve so fast that no one sees it.
I pulled on my black magician's jacket with the extra-wide sleeves. Then I crossed the room to the window. “Hi, Joey.”
Joey tilted his head at me, staring up with one eye. I lifted him carefully out of the cage with both hands. He warbled. I could feel it come from deep in his throat.
“We're going to practice our trick, Joey.” He warbled some more. Did he enjoy the trick? I couldn't tell. He never tried to fly away. Maybe that meant he was happy.
“Hold very still,” I told him. “That's your whole job, holding still.”
I cupped Joey in the palms of my hands. “And now, ladies and gentlemen,” I started in my deep, magician's voice.
But before I could go any further, a cold rush of wind brushed past me.
“Boo!” a voice screamed.
And an ice-cold hand gripped the back of my neck.
4
“AAAAIIH!” I SCREAMED. JOEY fluttered to the floor.
The hand let go. I spun around.
Colin hunched over me with a disgusting happy grin on his face. “Gotcha, Freak Face.”
I took a step back. “You are so not funny.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Why is your hand so cold?”
His grin grew wider. “I kept it in the freezer for fifteen minutes.”
My mouth dropped open. “Just to scare me?”
He snickered. “Yeah. Did you think it was one of those ghosts you've been hearing ever since we moved in here?”
“No,” I lied. There was no point in talking about the ghost. I know I hear something late at night in the kitchen, but he'll never believe me.
I bent down to pick up Joey, but Colin got there first. He tightened his fingers around the pigeon and raised him high in the air so I couldn't reach him.
“Give him back!” I shouted. I gave Colin a hard shove, but he didn't budge.
“I need him,” Colin said.
“What for?”
“For dog food. I'm going to feed him to Buster.” He laughed as if that was the funniest joke in the world.
“Give him back! He's mine!” I screamed. I jumped as high as I could, but I couldn't reach Joey.
“I'll bet pigeon tastes just like chicken,” Colin said. “You know Buster likes chicken.” Holding the pigeon in his tight fist, Colin started for the door.
“Give him back to me!” I screamed, chasing after Colin. I tried to tackle him, but I slid right off. What was that ripping sound? Did I tear my magician's jacket?
“You can't do this! You can't!” I wailed.
Colin turned at the door. “Want to save Joey's life?”
“Yes,” I said, climbing to my feet. “If you haven't already squeezed him to death.”
“Okay. Walk Buster for a week,” Colin said.
“You're joking!” I cried.
Buster is our big furry wolfhound. We adopted him from the pound a couple of years ago, and we keep him mainly in the garage and backyard. He hates me. The minute he sees me, he starts growling and snapping. I don't know why. Maybe he senses that I really wanted a Chihuahua.
“That's the deal,” Colin said, holding Joey up. “Walk Buster for a week—or the bird is doggy dinner.”
“But—but—” I sputtered. “Last week, Buster tried to chew my leg off!”
Colin shrugged. “Maybe you taste like chicken.” He squeezed Joey tighter. “Deal?”
I stared at the little pigeon, his little head poking out of Colin's fist. “Deal,” I said.
I could see Buster's eyes glowing in the darkness of the garage. I clicked on the light and raised the leather leash. “Walk, Buster? Go for a walk?”
The huge dog ducked his head and uttered a low growl.
“Good boy,” I lied. “Good boy. Go for a walk.”
I took a step toward the dog. My legs were kinda shaky. Why am I doing this
? I wondered. I had to remind myself I was saving a pigeon's life.
To my surprise, Buster loped up to me and lowered his head so I could put on the leash. “Good boy. Good boy,” I kept repeating. “Please don't bite my face off tonight. I want to look good for the class photographs.”
The dog nodded as if he understood. I clicked the leash onto his collar. He gave a hard tug, eager to get outside and do his business.
I let him lead me out of the garage, down the driveway, and into the street. He raised his leg at the tree stump at the bottom of the drive, one of his favorite places. Then we walked on toward the corner.
It was a cool October night. Gusts of wind sent brittle dead leaves swirling down the street. The moon had disappeared behind low black clouds.
Buster loped along, sniffing the grass, sniffing a pile of leaves, sniffing everything. I think to dogs, sniffing is like reading. They can't read, so they sniff everything instead.
I let Buster sniff whatever he wanted. I was so happy that he wasn't snarling and trying to turn me into a dog biscuit.
It all went fine until we reached the corner.
We stepped into the circle of yellow light from the streetlamp, and Buster started to change.
He stopped suddenly and turned his big furry head to me.
I leaned down. “Buster, what's wrong?”
Then the dog opened his mouth—as if to speak!
As I stared in shock, his mouth opened wider. His black lips pulled back until I could see all his teeth. The lips pulled back farther. The mouth pulled open even wider.
“Buster—?”
I gasped in horror as the lips pulled back… back …until Buster's whole head disappeared. Was he swallowing himself?
His eyes disappeared inside his skin. The gaping mouth slid back over Buster's body. I could see glistening wet, pink flesh—the insides of his throat.
And then, as the fur peeled back, I saw pale bones and gleaming yellow and red organs. Buster's purple, pulsing heart. His rib cage. His balloonlike stomach. His twisting yellow guts.
“Ohhh.” My stomach churned as I stared, frozen in horror.
Blood shot through purple, pulsing veins. Buster's heart throbbed outside his body. Gloppy, half-digested food fell from his stomach and plopped onto the sidewalk.
In seconds, he stood in front of me—inside out!
Only his wagging tail remained covered with fur. The rest of him pulsed and throbbed and glistened, his wet and shiny insides on the outside.
“Ohh.” I let out another groan. I pressed a hand over my mouth, trying to keep my dinner down. My whole body shook.
How could this be happening? I glanced around quickly. Was anyone else nearby? Was I the only one seeing this?
The houses were all dark. No one else was on the street.
Something moved from inside the bulging, pink dog stomach. A shadow formed. A wisp of black mist floated up from the panting inside-out dog.
Under the streetlamp, the black mist rose quickly, and spread.
And in the swirling fog, I saw the figure of a man.
I dropped to my knees in fright and stared helplessly as the man formed, lifting himself slowly. His face was hidden in darkness. His body was wrapped in a flowing black cloak down to his ankles.
The figure shifted and swayed in the swirling black fog. I huddled beside Buster and stared up as the shadowy figure floated over me.
And in a booming voice, so powerful it made the grass quiver and bend, he said:
“Where are they? Tell me where they are, and I might let you live!”
5
“WHOA —! PLEASE —” I JUMPED to my feet and tried to back away. But I tripped over the curb and landed on my butt on the grass.
The fog swirled over me, pinning me to the ground. Inside the mist, I could see the man in the swirling cloak.
“Tell me!” he screamed.
His breath was a rush of hot wind, putrid like rotten fish. The stench hung over me. I held my breath, waiting for it to fade away.
“Tell me where they are!” Again, the hot, smelly breath roared over me.
“Who—? Where?” I choked out. “I—I really don't know what you're talking about.”
“Don't lie to me, fool!”
A wisp of black fog shot over my arm. I let out a scream as sharp pain stabbed through my hand.
“No—oh, please!” I uttered a weak cry as the skin began to peel back from my fingers. My fingernails flopped loosely.
“Ohhh. It hurts! It really hurts!” I could see all the blue veins and yellow tendons and muscles of my hand.
I opened and closed my fist, trying to lessen the pain. I watched the tendons and muscles move, the tiny veins pulsing with blood. Stab after stab of fiery pain shot up my hand, my arm, my whole body.
“See what I can do?” the voice boomed, sending another spray of hot, fish-stinking breath over me.
“Yes,” I whispered, gaping at my ugly, wet claw. “Please—it hurts so much. …”
A wave of his shadowy arm, and the skin slid back over my hand. It moved over my fingers like a tight-fitting glove. The fingernails pulled back into place.
“Next time I won't be so nice. Next time, I will peel you like an orange.”
Shaking, I tried to move my fingers. They seemed to work okay.
This can't be happening, I told myself. My hand still ached. Please, Max—wake up from this nightmare.
I stared at the figure, hidden in the black cloak. Who is he? I wondered, struggling to stop my body from shaking. What does he want with me?
“Now, tell me where they are!” the voice boomed.
“I … really don't understand,” I said, gazing up at the billowing figure in the fog. “Who are you?”
“My name is Phears. I am the Animal-Traveler.”
I climbed to my knees. “You … travel inside animals?” My voice trembled.
“Stop stalling,” he rasped, floating over me like a black cloud. “I've been in your room. I couldn't find them. Where are you hiding them?”
“You … you've been in my room?”
“They might as well surrender.” Phears ignored my question. “Their parents are gone for good. And we, their prisoners, have all escaped. All the ghosts are out.”
“Huh? I—I can't help you. I don't know what you're talking about,” I said, my teeth chattering. “I'm not hiding anyone. I'm just here walking my inside-out dog.”
“You're lying!” he screamed. His hot breath blasted me, so putrid I couldn't breathe. “Say your final prayer!”
“No—please! Please! I'm not hiding anyone. You got the wrong guy! Did you try my neighbors?”
The thick fog floated over me. A roar filled my ears. I stared up at the shadowy figure. The darkness swirled tightly around me, circling me, smothering me.
I grabbed my throat. It felt as if someone was squeezing my neck … tighter … tighter …
I squirmed and ducked and dodged, but I couldn't escape the choking grip on my throat.
This isn't fair, I thought. He's got the wrong guy … the wrong guy. I'm going to die—and it's all a mistake.
Gasping, wheezing, I struggled for breath. My chest burned. The ground swayed beneath me. I fell to the grass. Everything started to spin.
I couldn't fight it. Couldn't breathe.
Finally, I gave up and surrendered to the fog, surrendered to the hot, black, choking wind.
6
BRIGHT LIGHT WASHED OVER the darkness. I blinked.
I must have passed out for a moment. I was still on my knees on the corner.
The light split in two. I blinked again and a car came into focus. It turned the corner, and the beam from its twin headlights rolled over me.
Phears floated above me. The light swept right through him. He let out a hoarse gasp. I saw his hands fly up to protect his face as if the light was painful to him. Twisting away from the glow, he curled into a tight ball. Then he disappeared into his fog, and the fog vanished too.
I turned to Buster—still inside out. He was lying on his side in the grass. His purple heart was pounding hard. It made a sliccck sliccck slicccksound, sort of like windshield wipers.
“Hey, Max—” The car stopped. Mrs. Murray, one of our neighbors, poked her head out the driver's window.
“Oh. Hi, Mrs. Murray.” I climbed to my feet, feeling shaky and dazed. Phears' terrifying voice still boomed in my ears.
Mrs. Murray pointed to Buster. “Did you drop your garbage there? Need help picking it up?”
“No thanks,” I said. “It's just my dog.”
Her mouth dropped open. She raised her eyes from Buster to me. “You're such a strange boy, Max,” she said. The car roared away.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. What just happened? Did I really see what I thought I saw?
I couldn't stop trembling. My legs felt like rubber bands. My breath rattled in my throat.
It had to be a hidden-camera TV show, right? And now people were going to come jumping out of the bushes, telling me how scared I looked and how hilarious the whole thing was.
But no. No cameras. No hidden TV crew in the bushes.
It really happened. Who was Phears? Some kind of ghost or zombie or something? Why did he travel inside animals? And why did he think I was hiding someone from him?
He said he had been in my room. That thought sent a chill down my back. And he said next time he'd peel me like an orange.
Oh, wow. I had to make sure there was no next time. But—how?
I squeezed my hand. The skin was back nice and tight. I shuddered and pictured it all peeled again with the yellow tendons and blue veins showing.
At least Phears is gone, I thought.
But I was wrong.
As I turned to Buster, the black cloud floated over me again. I blinked, struggling to see in the heavy mist. And once again, I heard Phears' booming voice.
“I know Nicky and Tara Roland are back,” he said. “And I know you are hiding them.”
I raised my hands to shield myself. “Please—no more pain. You've made a big mistake.”
“You are the one making the mistake,” Phears boomed from inside his ghostly fog. “But I am leaving now. I am clouding your mind so you will not remember me. I don't want you to warn them. I don't want them to know that I am coming. So I am erasing your memory for now. But don't worry—I will be back!”