“We’re all going,” the tall blonde of the group, and obviously the ringleader, declared. “If you don’t do it, you’re no longer allowed to sit at our table during lunch.”
“Or even talk to us,” the first girl added.
“Rose, be quiet,” the blonde girl ordered. “I’ll make the rules, okay?”
“Sorry, Marissa” Rose whispered.
“Okay, we’ll meet at the edge of the woods—just behind the graveyard—at nine o’clock sharp,” she said, tapping her pink wristwatch. “And anyone who doesn’t show, or anyone who chickens out at the last second is out of the club.”
“Right,” Rose responded.
“Swear it,” the girl named Marissa ordered, placing her hand in the middle of the group.
The two others put their hands in the middle, their matching bracelets creating a circular pattern.
“We swear it,” they all said in unison.
Sonja couldn’t help but smile at how middle school cliques never seemed to change that much.
She had a pretty good guess about where they planned on going that night: The Simpson Mausoleum.
The Simpsons, a well to do family from the east coast, had originally owned a small farm out in this direction in the early-to-mid 1800s before Haunted Falls really existed. The father, Howard Simpson, had unexpectedly passed away, leaving the wife, Sheela Simpson, and two little daughters unable to manage the farm on their own—luckily, they had a wealth of savings hidden in the farmhouse. So, without any official graveyard, the family built their own mausoleum out of necessity.
They put the father in the mausoleum in a glass coffin, a sign that he was still there with them and watching.
However, when a gang of robbers came through the area they stole all the money in the house and killed the wife and daughters. It wouldn’t be until almost a year later that the bodies would be found—by the founders of Haunted Falls—and then haphazardly buried somewhere nearby to cover up any stench or disease.
Now the story behind the family was that the ghosts of the daughters and the mother wandered the area, searching for their own graves. The father was said to be trapped behind the glass, unable to ever escape and move on—not until his family could find their graves.
It had been a long Halloween tradition for kids from the town to sneak off to the mausoleum and touch the glass coffin inside as a sign of bravery. Some kids even claimed they saw the mummified skeleton inside move or reach out for them.
A year ago, Sonja would have called their bluff. Now, however, she wasn’t so sure it was impossible.
Sonja made a mental note to remind Frank about the mausoleum, so they could pick up any kids who might try and sneak out there—thus disobeying the special rules the police had set for the evening.
The group of girls moved on, obviously heading toward the line for the haunted house. Suddenly, Sonja noticed two figures peek out from behind one of the game booths and slowly follow the girls toward the other side of the gym.
It was Dillon and Brian, Sam’s two friends.
“Well, that explains some things,” Sonja whispered to herself.
CHAPTER 7
A few moments later Belinda arrived, waving across the gym as she approached the table. “Hi, Sonja,” she exclaimed, approaching the catering booth.
“Hi, Belinda,” Sonja smiled.
“Sorry I couldn’t be here sooner,” Belinda sighed, “Aunt Bella kept me occupied with all sorts of questions.”
“Questions?” Sonja pressed.
“Yes,” the dark haired woman smiled. “She seems very interested in you.”
“In me?!” Sonja exclaimed.
“As she should be,” Belinda insisted. “After all, you’re the only other person in town with any supernatural sense.”
Refraining from rolling her eyes, Sonja pressed the subject further. “Why would she be interested in me?”
“Well, despite her stern appearance, Aunt Bella is very interested in the paranormal.”
Sonja leaned back a little, folding her arms. “Is she? What did you tell her?”
“Well, I told her all about your supernatural sensitivity, how you can communicate with ghosts like no other person I’ve ever met.”
Glancing down, the caterer noticed one young girl, dressed as a witch, standing there—eyes wide in a combination of interest and fear—and obviously expecting a pumpkin pie waffle.
Sonja picked up a mini tin and handed it to the girl. “Here you go.”
As soon as the pie was in the girl’s hands she bolted from the table at top speed. Sonja raised an eyebrow at her friend.
“I think you scared her,” Belinda said matter-of-factly.
Sonja didn’t bother mentioning that the girl was only scared because of the things Belinda was saying.
“Anyway, when I mentioned that there was a blossoming medium in town—”
“Medium,” Sonja interrupted, a little too loudly. A few kids nearby looked at her. Correcting herself, she repeated the word in a whisper. “Medium?”
“Well, that’s what you are, Sonja,” the less-than-socially-sensitive friend said, attempting to bring her voice down to Sonja’s level.
“I’m nothing of the sort,” she shot back.
Belinda placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t you go and start denying it. I’m not crazy and neither are you. It’s the nature of your ability, you’re a medium.”
Feeling herself blush in utter embarrassment, Sonja tried to pass it off by fanning her own face. “Is it hot in here?”
“When I told Auntie about you, especially about that séance we did, she insisted we meet you.” The dark haired woman shrugged her shoulders. “So I suggested she come to the diner.”
“I see,” Sonja replied. “That’s why you showed up this morning.”
“Yes, and Aunt Bella is quite taken with you. She loved your food and is fascinated by your abilities.”
She nervously rearranged the pies, keeping them mostly the same as she switched them around. “Is she . . . a medium?” she asked.
“Well, not exactly,” Belinda replied. “You have more of a natural talent while Aunt Beatrice is more of a student.”
“A student?”
“Well, some might call her a witch,” she admitted.
Sonja’s jaw dropped. A real witch? She had never thought they existed—at least not in the traditional sense.
“She doesn’t have any inherent abilities. So, to have any kind of interaction with the supernatural she has to study books, track weather, moon, and star patterns. She has to do spells.”
Just when she thought things couldn’t get any weirder, Belinda had to show up with some other strange news about witches. As if ghosts weren’t bad enough on their own.
“Don’t worry,” the dark-haired heiress comforted her. “Auntie’s not like the witches you read about in stories. She would never use her powers for evil. It’s more of a passing interest than anything else.”
“I hope you’re right,” Sonja replied.
CHAPTER 8
Standing in line for the haunted house, Sonja tried to forget all about the conversation she had just had. She didn’t want to be a medium. She didn’t want to be a person who had special powers to speak with ghosts. All she wanted was to be a normal small town diner owner, to have normal experiences and normal relationships—like the one with Sheriff Thompson.
Most of all, she did not want to believe in witches—not after everything else she was faced with and forced into believing. Only six months earlier and she would have sworn up and down that ghosts didn’t exist, but now it seemed she believed in them.
If things continued along this same track, she suspected she would end up believing in full-fledged witches as well.
Instead, she concentrated on the decorations leading up to the haunted house. Signs painted to look old sat along the path leading to the entrance, each of them inscribed with the words: keep out, turn back now, beware, and other similar idioms. A few
foam tombstones also decorated the path with humorous names, such as Harry I. Ball and I. M. Mad printed on the fronts.
The sound of someone shouting drew her attention away from the decorations and toward the front of the line. At first, she thought nothing of it, assuming it was just sounds coming from within the haunted house, but then she spotted the girls from earlier standing at the front of the line.
Additionally, Sam stood there with them.
“No, you can’t be in our group,” shouted the blonde girl.
“Come on,” pleaded Sam. “It’s four to a group. Just let me go through the haunted house with you. I promise not to bother you.”
Dillon and Brian who had been behind the girls in line had taken a visible step back from the fight, obviously embarrassed that they too were trying to sneak into the ‘popular girls’ group.
“You’re a nerd,” Marissa insisted, “and we will not go through the haunted house with a nerd.”
“Come on, girls,” the gray-haired woman in charge of haunted house admissions, Mrs. Farnsworth, insisted. “You’re holding up the line, and Sam has every right to go through the haunted house.”
“But he purposefully let people ahead of him so he’d end up in our group. He’s such a little stalker.”
“Am not,” shouted Sam.
Having seen enough, Sonja stepped to the front of the line. “Mrs. Farnsworth,” she chimed in.
“Oh, Sonja,” the exasperated teacher exclaimed. “Do you need something?”
“Perhaps it would be best if I escorted the girls through the haunted house and Sam went with the next group.” This would give Sonja a chance to confront the girls specifically about their unwise decision to sneak out to the mausoleum.
“Miss Sonja,” Sam protested, in an all too adolescent voice.
“We’re fine with that,” Marissa interjected, folding her arms. Sonja refrained from rolling her eyes at the young woman’s stereotypical middle school attitude.
“Very well,” Mrs. Farnsworth agreed. “That seems reasonable enough.”
“It’s settled then,” Sonja announced, stepping up next to the group.
“I don’t see why I couldn’t go in with you,” Sam muttered, clearly loud enough so Marissa could hear.
Marissa responded by sticking out her tongue like a child.
“Look,” Sonja insisted. “You’re both old enough to know better.” She looked both Marissa and Sam in the eye. “In the future, try and be a little nicer to each other. Can you promise me that?”
“See what I get for trying to be friendly?” Sam shouted, and then stomped out the doors of the gym and into another part of the school.
“Don’t even try to reason with him, Miss Sonja,” Marissa proclaimed, flipping her hair. “He’s just a sci-fi geek.”
“Enough,” Mrs. Farnsworth insisted. “Now, if you’ll be quiet for a few seconds . . .” The teacher proceeded to list the rules, regulations, and safety precautions of the haunted house to the group. When she was done she said, “You may enter,” and let them pass.
The older woman whispered a “thank you” to Sonja as she passed through the black curtain and into the darkness beyond.
CHAPTER 9
As the black curtain closed behind them the room was suddenly plunged into complete darkness. One of the girls, most likely Adonia by the sound of it, squeaked in fright.
The room was filled with a sudden boom of thunder, and a single strobe illuminated the small entry. A hushed voice suddenly echoed over a hidden speaker system. “Welcome, foolish mortals, to this year’s haunted house—brought to you by the drama club.”
“Geeks,” Sonja heard Marissa whisper. “It’s just Mrs. Crawford, the drama teacher.”
A boom of thunder filled the room and Marissa squeaked into submission.
The sound effect of raindrops began, falling over them until it was pouring. Sonja suddenly felt surprisingly chilled—almost as if it had actually started raining for real.
“You are about to experience horrors beyond your own imagination,” the voice echoed, “but keep in mind, you are never in any real danger . . . or are you?” Maniacal laughter followed.
Shivering, Sonja brought her arms up around herself. Even with her Halloween sweater on, the black one with a jack-o-lantern embroidered on the front, she felt chilled and wondered if the drama club was using some kind of fan or cooler to make it feel more realistic.
“When you are ready,” the voice continued, “step into the next room and the first portion of your trip into darkness.”
“Come on, girls,” Sonja whispered, urging the group forward. They moved through the shrouded doorway and into the first area of the haunt. Stepping into the next room, Sonja looked around in the dim light.
Another flash of light was accompanied by a boom of thunder. So far, she had to say she was impressed with the caliber of this haunted house, despite it being done by a middle school.
The walls of the room, obviously once a classroom, were covered in butcher paper that was painted to resemble the hills and trees of a graveyard. Fake tombstones, crosses, and Styrofoam boulders adorned the room. A small “wrought iron” fence—obviously made of plastic—created a path leading through the room.
The sound of rain continued as they walked among the tombstones. Soon, a moan accompanied the rainfall.
The three girls whipped around to face an open grave and a cardboard coffin inside. Silently, the cardboard lid began to open revealing a half rotted zombie inside.
“Not scary,” Marissa muttered.
A ghoulish hand slowly crept up and touched Marissa from behind, causing her to scream out loud. The group turned to face five other corpses, zombies, who had appeared out of nowhere while the girls had been distracted by the open grave.
Screaming, the girls ran from the room with Sonja quickly behind—stifling a laugh.
The group emerged into the next room through a black gauze shroud hanging in strips over the doorway. Sonja audibly gasped. This room was taller and somewhat larger, perhaps a hallway or common room, and the large façade of an old Victorian mansion marked the doorway.
While it was clearly just a flat piece of large plywood that had been propped up, it was still, nonetheless, an impressive sight.
“You may have survived my zombies,” the voice echoed, “but can you make it through the haunted house?” Sonja realized the voice must be a recording that was set to go off whenever someone entered a new room.
The front door of the house opened and a sound effect of a door creaking echoed over the sound system.
“Let’s go in,” Sonja whispered to the girls, really beginning to enjoy the fun of the holiday again. Slowly, the small group moved in through the door, eagerly awaiting the horrors on the other side.
They now stood in a surprisingly detailed entry hall of an old mansion. Again, plastic and cardboard decorations in different shapes made the room all the more real. A few pieces of Victorian style furniture—two maroon antique chairs, a small matching duvet, and an oak table covered in a realistic coating of dust—adorned the room. A skull rested atop the table and a raven stared down from the corner of the room. Decorative cobwebs were stretched over every last bit of the room.
Most impressive of all, a stairway—clearly one of the schools many stairwells—was adorned to look as if it were simply a part of an old mansion.
“Head up the stairs, if you dare,” the voice cracked.
Taking a few steps up the stairs, the group was startled by a screaming witch who had suddenly appeared on the bottom steps.
The girls all ran up to the second floor and stood in a similarly decorated landing.
Walking through the classically cobwebbed area and shrouded furniture, and after a few more scares from students dressed as ghouls and ghosts, they entered another room.
The sound of electricity hummed in the air and old light bulbs and fluorescent bottles of liquid illuminated the laboratory. Sonja smirked at fake hands, eyes, and ev
en a brain floating in a few of the bottles and beakers.
“Step into the lab and meet the mad scientist,” the voice croaked again. “You may find that he is interesting company, especially when he has you tied to the electric chair.”
A chair in the corner of the room lit up and made sparking noises. A student actor in the seat screamed and shook as if he were on fire. “Stop, please make it stop,” he groaned. The lights on the chair turned off and the sound effects stopped—the actor slumping over as if dead.
From behind a cardboard control panel, a student with an Einstein wig jumped out. “Ha-ha! Come to see my latest creation?” he squeaked, tiptoeing over toward a table with a large cloth over it covering a body—most likely another actor. “Don’t worry, I don’t think it will bite,” he giggled. “But let’s turn on the electricity and see,” he cried, flipping a fake switch.
The table, similar to the chair, lit up and made electrical sounds. The mad scientist laughed wildly and threw his hands in the air.
The creature on the table sat up, the sheet still over its face.
“It’s alive, it’s alive,” the scientist cried.
The creature reached up with a black gloved hand and pulled the sheet down from its face.
Immediately, Sonja felt her heart drop to the ground as if made of lead. Before them, sitting on the table, was a man dressed in a black cloak—a skull mask covering the upper half of his face—same as the figure from behind the diner.
Again, Sonja felt the supernatural chill run through her body.
“Hey, who the heck are you?” the student playing the scientist muttered.
“Run,” Sonja screamed at the top of her lungs, pushing the girls forward. The urgency and seriousness in her voice obviously registered as the girls began to scream themselves.
The student in the electric chair leaped up and he, along with the mad scientist, bolted past the girls, knocking one of them over, as they headed out the door. Glancing back, Sonja watched the man stand up from the table.
“Hurry,” she shouted, bending down to help the girl up.
“I hurt my ankle,” she cried.
Pumpkin Pie Waffle: Book 5 in The Diner of the Dead Series Page 3