Terrifying Tales

by Jon Scieszka

  “What do you want?” I stammer.

  “You threw me away, Tyler.” Its voice is like dead leaves rustling in an abandoned graveyard. “I want revenge.”

  Somehow I muster the strength to turn and face it before its tail can choke the life out of me.

  “I did not throw you away!”

  But Mr. Shocky is not there. I am alone. Is Dr. Rosen right? Am I losing it? Am I doing terrible things, then forcing myself to forget them? Did I destroy my baby brother’s room? Did I lure him into the tree house? I can’t be sure anymore, and I don’t have the luxury of not knowing, not with Dylan in the room next to mine. I unlock my bedroom door and swing it open.

  “I’ll go with you,” I say. “Just make me better.”

  New Beginnings Center isn’t so bad. In fact, aside from all the meditation and daily group therapy sessions, it is a lot like sleepaway camp. The grounds are big. There is a soccer field, a basketball court, and a pool. The library has some decent books, and I sort of enjoy the fact that I get to wear pajamas every day.

  The other kids in the facility are there for various reasons; some have panic attacks, others are just sad. Then there are the other kids, the dangerous ones, like the boy who likes to start fires, and a girl whose night terrors keep her up. They stay in a different wing than me. One night I saw a kid run down the hall that connects that wing to mine while a beefy security guard chased her. She screamed when she was caught. The next day the guard’s face was covered in scratches and bandages. Other than that, though, things have been pretty calm.

  My parents visit twice a week, and we go on long walks to the greenhouse and to the pond.

  “How’s Dylan?” I always ask.

  Their smiles are tight when they tell me he is fine. They still think I’m a danger to him, but they never admit it. One time they gave me a few of his little drawings, made just for me. I treasure every one, keeping them in my bedside table drawer. I take them out whenever I’m feeling lonely or frustrated, which is most of the time.

  “How are we feeling today?” Dr. Rosen asks me during group therapy. This session is called “the talking dog” because we pass a stuffed dog toy from one person to the next. Whoever has the dog can talk. If you don’t, you have to keep quiet and listen. Today, I find the dog in my lap.

  “I feel good,” I say. To be honest, I don’t feel much different than I did the day they locked me up in here, but I am learning to play the game, and staying positive is part of it. If I have any hope of ever getting out, I need to keep a smile on my face.

  “It’s been thirty days since you joined us,” Dr. Rosen says. “Have you had any visits from Mr. Shocky?”

  I shake my head. I haven’t seen a hint of either the rainbow or monster version of my imaginary friend. “Not a peep.”

  “How does that feel, Tyler?”

  Before I can answer, the door opens and a pale-faced girl charges into the room. Her hair is ratty and streaked with platinum white strands. Her eyes have dark circles under them, making it look like she crawled out of somewhere dark. She plops down into an empty seat and tucks her feet under herself, curling in tight as if the rest of us are contagious.

  Dr. Rosen’s face darkens and he shifts in his chair, but he doesn’t scold her for being late. Last week he gave me a lecture because I showed up a minute past the hour. This girl is strolling in five minutes before we head to lunch.

  “Tyler, could you continue discussing your current successes?” Dr. Rosen says to me.

  “Current successes?” The girl laughs. “How successful could he be if he’s stuck in this loony bin? Right, Doc?”

  Dr. Rosen frowns and the girl laughs at him. Rosen looks down into his notes, refusing to take her bait. I’m stunned. Who is this girl, and why is Rosen letting her disrupt the session?

  She turns her attention back to me.

  “So, you’re crazy, huh?”

  I have no idea how to answer that question, so I just shake my head.

  “C’mon, kid! Why are you here?” she cries.

  “When I was little, I had an imaginary friend that I couldn’t let go of, but I know he isn’t real and I made him go away.”

  “That’s encouraging news,” Dr. Rosen says.

  The girl shoots the doctor a vicious look. “Imaginary, huh? Is that what you told him?”

  Dr. Rosen shifts uncomfortably again, but he remains quiet.

  She leans back in her seat and chuckles. “Is it that you couldn’t let go of him—or that he wouldn’t let go of you?”

  I toss and turn in my bed, unable to get the angry girl out of my head. What did she mean when she said Mr. Shocky wouldn’t let me go? My mind tells me to forget about her, that she’s just some sick kid who enjoys freaking out the other patients. I know the type. The center has dozens of jerks like her, yet something about her can’t be forgotten. Maybe it was the way she sneered at Dr. Rosen, or maybe it was the “I know something you don’t know” look in her eyes. I’m so wound up I almost don’t hear the soft scraping noise near the door to my room. In the moonlight I watch a slip of paper slide under the crack. I get up and snatch it off the floor. It’s a note scribbled in crayon.

  If you want the truth come to the art room.—Esmeralda

  Esmeralda. I have no proof that it’s from the girl in group therapy, but something tells me it is. When I open the door and peer out, there’s no one there. I look down the hall. Around the far corner is the art room, in the same wing as the really troubled and dangerous kids. I’m sure that’s where they keep her. I should ignore her, but my curiosity is on fire. There’s no way I’m going to get any sleep until I find out what she wants. I decide to follow her.

  It isn’t easy. I dart from door to door to avoid the orderlies and nurses, and hide in the bathroom from the snooping security guard. When I finally get to the art room door, I’m a nervous wreck. I hurry in and find myself in blackness. A tiny sliver of moonbeam reveals three figures waiting for me.

  “How did you guys get in here without being seen?” I say as I struggle to catch my breath.

  “I told you he’d come,” a voice says. I recognize it as the girl.

  “This is a waste of time, Esmeralda,” the smallest of the figures says. “He won’t believe us and besides, it’s his problem, not ours.”

  “Stop whining, Chad,” the biggest shadow complains. “We all agreed to help him.”

  “What’s going on here?” I demand.

  There is a click and a small table lamp illuminates everything. For the first time I can see the group. Esmeralda looks as tired and washed-out as before. Her friend Chad is a sour little guy with a big nose and thick glasses. Their friend is big and puffy with a face like a baby.

  “Depends. You said you have an imaginary friend problem,” Esmeralda says.

  “Oh, this is a joke,” I say.

  “It’s not a joke,” the big kid says. “What is yours called?”

  “I’m out of here,” I fume. I’m not going to stand here and let them laugh at me. But in a flash Esmeralda blocks my way.

  “Just hear us out,” she begs.

  “Awww, let him go,” Chad says as he pushes his glasses up his nose. “He doesn’t want our help.”

  “He just needs proof. Show him, Nicholas,” Esmeralda says to the big kid.

  Nicholas leads me to a mirror on the wall. When we are in front of it, he looks to me and says, “Don’t freak out.” Then he turns to the mirror. “Hey, Davenport, it’s me, Nicholas.”

  “I really don’t—”

  “Be quiet or the gjenganger won’t come,” Chad snaps.

  “What’s a gjenganger?”

  “It’s what you call an imaginary friend,” Nicholas explains, then turns back to the mirror. “Come on, Davenport. Come on out.”

  There’s a nervous shift in the air and I’m suddenly not so sure this is a joke. I hear a thumping sound that sends tremors into my feet. My throat goes dry and tightens into a knot. There’s another thump and I see a penci
l bounce on a nearby desk. My brain says this is my imagination, but my senses are telling me it’s more than that. Still, they can’t prepare me for Davenport’s arrival. Suddenly, he’s there, right behind me in the reflection, a massive, towering beast of muscle, matted hair, and bloody claws. I can’t see its face, but its breath is a furnace on the back of my neck that grows hotter and closer with every passing moment. I’m losing the battle against the scream that’s rising up through my body.

  “Don’t panic, just be cool,” Nicholas says as he turns his gaze back to the monster’s reflection. “Davenport, this is my new friend, Tyler,” he says in a cheerful voice.

  Davenport’s roar blasts me with rage and hostility. My instinct is to run, but Nicholas grabs me by the arm and holds me tight.

  “No, he’s not going to replace you, Davenport. You’re still my favorite. I just want you to meet him. Tyler can play games with us, but only when you say it’s okay.”

  The creature grunts as if he is debating whether to rip my head off my shoulders or not. I get the impression he doesn’t want to share Nicholas with anyone.

  “Only when you say it’s okay,” Nicholas repeats to the beast, then nudges me, letting me know it is okay to move away from the mirror.

  “What is that thing?” I whimper, once I can no longer see it.

  “We told you,” Chad cries. “It’s called a gjenganger, a creature that has found a way out of imagination and into our world.”

  “How?”

  “Who knows? But once they’re free, oh man! They latch onto a kid like a parasite and they don’t let go.”

  “They’re looking for affection. They feed on it and normally they’re harmless,” Esmeralda says. “Usually when the child gets to a certain age, the gjenganger crawls back to where it came from and waits for the next kid to come along, but sometimes—”

  “What?” I beg.

  “Sometimes they don’t want to go back,” she says. “That’s what happened with yours.”

  “What do you call it, anyway?” Nicholas asks.

  “Mr. Shocky,” I whisper.

  “It’s probably too late to get rid of him now,” Chad says. “He’s got his hooks in you.”

  “No, I got rid of him before. Dr. Rosen helped, but somehow he came back and he’s with my brother.”

  “And he’s angry?” Esmeralda says.

  I nod. “How do you know so much about these things?”

  Esmeralda turns to the others. “We have to help him before it’s too late. Who’s with me?”

  Suddenly, there’s a bang and the overhead lights come on. I spin toward the door, sure that Davenport or something even worse has come for us.

  “You three should be in bed,” Dr. Rosen says. He’s smiling at us like we’re a bunch of incorrigible pranksters.

  “I told him the truth,” Esmeralda says. “I told him about the gjenganger.”

  Dr. Rosen’s face puckers up like he has bitten into a lemon. It’s the first time I have ever seen him angry. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

  “It’s not right that you lie to him,” Esmeralda continues.

  “Esmeralda, you know as well as I do that if I was honest with Tyler, then he would never free himself from that thing. The only way to send it back is to reject its very existence. Now that Tyler knows Mr. Shocky is real, he’ll—”

  The world slides sideways. “Wait! Mr. Shocky is real? You made me think I was crazy!”

  “I had to,” the doctor cries. “And it works! Mr. Shocky was gone for three years. This is the first time a gjenganger has come back.”

  “That thing is with my brother,” I cry. “I have to get home.”

  “I won’t let you go,” Dr. Rosen says. “There are other ways to get rid of these creatures and—”

  “You can’t stop me.”

  “Yes, I can,” he snaps, his face as red as blood. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a whistle then blasts a screaming note into the air. “Security will be here in just a moment to get you back into bed. We’re going to have to adjust your medications.”

  Esmeralda steps up to the doctor. “This has gone on long enough, Tommy. Nicholas, get us out of here.”

  “Davenport, make a door!” Nicholas cries.

  I hear a huff, then the sound of claws rapidly clicking on the marble floor. A second later there is a huge crash, a cloud of dust, and a massive hole in the wall in front of us. I stand still, dumbfounded and unable to act. My brain just can’t accept what I am witnessing and yet, it’s real. For the first time in my life I know that I am perfectly healthy.

  And then we run.

  The four of us (well, five, if you count Davenport) race into the night, charging through the chilly air with little direction and even less light. We tumble into the forest that surrounds the center and stamp around for a while until we come across a road. About a half a mile on we discover a train station and make a mad dash for the platform, where a train is preparing to leave. Luckily, one of its stops is my hometown. We find seats in the back of the car to avoid the ticket collector and move frequently so as not to let on that we don’t have tickets.

  The sun is coming up when we arrive. Once outside, we jog toward my house, a good half mile away. Each step is a mounting anxiety. Am I too late? Has Mr. Shocky already hurt Dylan? And then the biggest question of all.

  “How do we stop him?”

  “There’s a way,” Esmeralda says. “Gjengangere are creatures of imagination, so you fight it with imagination.”

  “I’m confused.”

  Chad rolls his eyes. “If you’re going to destroy Mr. Shocky, you have to build a weapon in your mind that can kill him. We’ll show you how to drag it out into the real world, but make it a good one. You’ll only get one chance. If you fail . . .”

  “What? What happens?”

  “They fight back. Mine . . .” Chad looks like he might cry. It’s the first expression on his face I have seen that isn’t disgust or impatience. He tries to continue but then breaks into tears and runs ahead of us.

  “Chad’s imaginary friend was called Zaxx. He wouldn’t go away and when Chad fought back, it attacked his mother and father,” Nicholas explains.

  “Attacked?”

  “It killed them.”

  I gasp and my stomach turns sour. I’m sure I’m going to vomit.

  “It’s why I have learned to live with Davenport,” Nicholas says. “I could never figure out how to create these imaginary weapons and it’s not worth the risk anyway. As long as I give it enough attention, I don’t have to worry.”

  “We’re wasting time,” Esmeralda cries. “You need to be thinking of your weapon. Mr. Shocky knows we’re coming and he’ll be ready.”

  When we race into my house, my parents are in a panic and Dr. Rosen is waiting.

  “We won’t let you stop us,” I say to him.

  Dr. Rosen shakes his head. “I’m not here to stop you. I came to help. I told your parents the truth and . . . they’re not yet ready to accept this story.”

  “What is going on?” my father shouts. “Has the whole world lost its mind?”

  “Where’s Dylan?” I beg.

  “In his room. He’s still sleeping,” my mother says, and before she can stop us, we all race upstairs. I push the door open and on the other side is my baby brother, dangling in midair, held off the ground by an invisible force. He is in hysterics, sobbing and terrified, kicking his little legs in a vain attempt to touch the floor.

  “Tyler!” he wails.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to let Mr. Shocky hurt you, little man,” I say, though I still have no clue how I’m going to stop him.

  Dr. Rosen seems to understand my fears. “You can’t see him, can you? That’s my fault, Tyler. He’s there, but you have to forget everything I told you if you want to see him. You have to throw away all the skills I helped you learn, knock down the walls we built. I thought they would protect you, but I was wrong. Mr. Shocky is real and until you accept tha
t fact, you won’t be able to hurt him.”

  “How do I stop something my brain won’t let me see?”

  Esmeralda takes my hand. “You can see me.”

  I stare into her dark eyes and suddenly understand. “You’re one of them?”

  She nods, then tilts her head toward Dr. Rosen. “I’m with him, have been since he was three.”

  “Why are you helping me?”

  “That thing should have moved on. Those are the rules. He’s breaking them,” Esmeralda says.

  “But you stuck around,” I say, gesturing to the doctor.

  “He asked me to. It’s different,” she says. “Now, you have to accept that Mr. Shocky is real. It’s your only chance.”

  And then, before my eyes, I see Mr. Shocky—not my rainbow friend, but the angry, black, and broken creature he has become. I see his bloodred eyes and his wicked tail whipping around the room. I see his black talons wrapped around my brother’s neck, and I close my eyes and concentrate, searching my imagination for a weapon that will kill him where he stands.

  Twenty years later . . .

  I wish I could say it worked, but it didn’t. The nagging voices in my head, the ones that sounded just like my parents and friends and Dr. Rosen, the ones that told me that it was all in my head, were just too loud. When my weapon failed to appear, Chad attacked Mr. Shocky but got tossed across the room. Dr. Rosen tried and failed, too. Nicholas sent in Davenport, and even Esmeralda fought. But none of us were a match for my blackest nightmare.

  So, like Nicholas, I was forced to make a deal. To keep the people I love safe, I promised to be Mr. Shocky’s friend forever. And in exchange, he promised not to hurt my family.