Help! We Have Strange Powers! Read online

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  HELP! WE HAVE STRANGE POWERS!

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  ENTER HORRORLAND

  The Story So Far…

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  TEASER

  FEAR FILE #10

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO AVAILABLE

  COPYRIGHT

  Sometimes being a twin totally rocks, and sometimes it’s the pits.

  I hate all the jokes. People say, “You look so much alike. How can I tell you apart?”

  That’s supposed to be funny, see. Because I’m a girl and my twin is a boy. Ha-ha.

  Our parents didn’t help us out. I mean, naming us Jillian and Jackson. That’s too cute for words, right? I’ve been thinking when I get older, I may change my name to Adrianna.

  Or do you think that’s too snobby sounding?

  Well, I’m stuck with Jillian for now. But I don’t let anyone call me Jilly or Jill. And I never wear the same color clothes as Jackson.

  I guess I’m more sensitive about the twin thing than my brother. He’s the relaxed one in the Gerard family. Everything is cool with him.

  Mom says I think too much. It sounds like a compliment. But she doesn’t mean it in a good way. She says if I were a superhero, I’d be Worry Woman.

  Jackson and I are into superheroes. We’re saving up our allowances to go to the big comic-book convention in San Diego next summer.

  But that’s a whole other story.

  Jackson and I are twelve. We both are tall and thin. We have wavy brown hair and dark, serious eyes. I’m on the swim team at school, and I like to play tennis, and I take horseback riding lessons on Saturdays.

  Jackson is into sports, too. Mainly, Madden Football on his PlayStation 3.

  Dad says Jackson should get up off the couch and get more exercise. Jackson told him, “I’ll get a lot more exercise if you buy me a Wii.”

  This argument goes on and on.

  Anyway, one good thing about being a twin is you always have someone to go to the movies with. One rainy night after dinner, Dad dropped us off at the tenplex at the mall. We ran to the ticket window to make sure Butt-Kicker II wasn’t sold out.

  Butt-Kicker is our favorite superhero. He started out as a member of the Mighty Mutant Club. But he was kicked out for being too tough!

  How cool is that?

  Jackson and I bought big buckets of buttered popcorn. Then we made our way down the aisle of the crowded theater. We like to sit very close to the screen. We don’t like people to come between us and the movie.

  We sat down on the end of the third row. I stared up at the screen. Basketball players were leaping about a mile off the floor. It was a commercial for sneakers that could make you “almost” fly.

  “Great seats,” Jackson said, digging into his popcorn. “I don’t mind a stiff neck — do you?”

  “Of course not,” I said. I accidentally bumped his arm with my elbow. A little popcorn spilled onto the floor.

  “Hey — watch it!” Jackson snapped. He twisted away from me. “This is my new sweater. You’ll get butter on it.”

  “Jackson, it’s a black sweater,” I said. “The stains won’t show.”

  Jackson didn’t reply. He was staring past me to the aisle. And he had a horrified look on his face.

  “Oh, noooo,” he moaned. “I don’t believe it. Oh, noooo.”

  And that’s when all our trouble began … on the day Jackson and I got our strange, new powers.

  I turned and saw Nina and Artie Lerner squeezing into our row.

  It was my turn to let out a groan. Jackson and I can’t stand those two kids.

  I wanted to pretend I didn’t see them. But Nina was already waving to us. And Artie had a dopey, toothy grin on his face.

  They dropped into the seats next to Jackson. “Funny meeting you here,” Artie said. He giggled. That was his idea of a joke.

  “These seats are too close,” Nina complained. “It’s making my eyes hurt.”

  “What is this dumb film, anyway?” Artie asked, wrinkling his thick black eyebrows. “Is it like Batman or what?”

  I took a deep breath. “Butt-Kicker could eat Batman for breakfast,” I told him.

  Let me explain about Nina and Artie. They are twins, too. And they just moved to our school in September. We’re in some of the same classes.

  And because they’re twins and we’re twins, Jackson and I were assigned to be like their school guides. You know. Show them the ropes.

  So we became their first friends at school. We really didn’t want to be their friends. We quickly discovered they were both totally gross and disgusting. We didn’t like them at all. But people were always putting us together.

  You know how there’s one kid in class whose nose never stops running? Well, that is Artie Lerner. Artie and Nina both say they have sinus problems.

  But Artie is the worst. He’s constantly blowing his nose into these disgusting, wet, wadded-up tissues. And when he eats in the lunchroom, snot drips onto his sandwich. Really!

  How gross is that?

  Artie is always giggling at things that aren’t funny. And he thinks he’s cool because he wears baggy, low-riding jeans and long, heavy metal rock-group T-shirts. But no one is into that at our school. He looks like a little kid playing dress-up!

  They both have curly brown hair that looks greasy. And they walk kind of hunched over with their shoulders slumped. They look tense and worried all the time.

  The Lerners have high, whiny voices. Nina never stops complaining about her migraines and her sinuses and whatever.

  She stands too close when she talks to you. I mean, right in your face. And she always pokes you with one finger as she talks. She’s always touching you, and grabbing you, and poking you.

  I guess you get the picture. The Lerner twins are no fun.

  Nina squirmed in her seat. “It’s kind of damp in this theater,” she said. “Very bad for my sinuses. Hope I don’t get one of my attacks.”

  I pretended I was totally into the commercials on the screen.

  Jackson had his head down, like he was studying his popcorn bucket.

  “Yo, dude,” Artie said. He is always calling everyone “dude.” Girls, too. “Awesome sweater. I saw one just like it at Old Navy.”

  Artie grabbed Jackson’s sleeve to feel the sweater.

  Jackson let out a startled cry as Artie bumped the bucket from his hand. And a ton of butter-soaked popcorn came spilling out.

  “My sweater!” Jackson shouted. He frantically tried to brush the popcorn off. But he had two huge butter stains on the front. “My new sweater! I don’t believe it!”

  I guess I was wrong about stains not showing on black sweaters.

  Artie shrugged. “No biggie,” he said. “It doesn’t look too bad.” He brushed some popcorn kernels off Jackson’s sleeve.

  “It’s totally ruined!” Jackson said.

  “It’ll come right out in the wash,” Artie said.

  He wiped his runny nose on the back of his hand. Then he dug into the bottom of the bucket, pulled out a handful of Jackson’s popcorn, and shoved it into his mouth.

>   Jackson may be the calm one in our family. But you can push him too far.

  And that was too far!

  Jackson let out a roar. He wrapped an arm around Artie’s neck and began wrestling with him.

  The popcorn bucket rolled into the aisle, and a little girl tripped over it. She fell onto her knees and started to scream.

  Jackson pulled Artie out of his seat. The two of them tumbled into the aisle, wrestling, grabbing at each other, punching.

  Nina jumped to her feet and started shrieking. “Don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him! You’ll kill him!”

  Up on the screen, a little mouse was telling everyone to turn off their cell phones and be “quiet as a mouse” during the movie.

  A skinny middle-aged man in a black suit appeared from out of nowhere. He had some kind of badge hanging around his neck. He grabbed Jackson with one hand and Artie with the other.

  “I’m the manager,” he said. “You four — let’s go. Quickly. You’re out of here. All of you — you’re under arrest!”

  He herded us up the aisle to the exit. People stared as we walked past.

  Behind us, I could hear the Butt-Kicker theme song. The movie was starting. But we wouldn’t see it.

  The manager pushed us through the lobby and out into the mall.

  “You’re not really arresting us,” I said. I couldn’t help it. My voice was kind of shaky.

  “No,” he replied. “I just said that to get your attention. But you’re out of here. I can’t have fistfights in my movie theater.”

  He gave us a nasty stare. Then he turned and stomped back into the theater.

  Jackson tugged at his sweater sleeve. The sweater was totally stretched out and stained.

  We took a few steps into the mall. I just wanted to get away from the Lerner twins. But, of course, they followed us.

  “No biggie,” Artie said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “I hate superhero movies, anyway.”

  “Yeah,” Nina agreed. “They’re too noisy. They always give me a migraine.”

  I’d like to give her a migraine! I thought. Why do we always get stuck with these losers?

  “Want to hang out or something?” Artie asked. “Maybe we could get some cinnamon buns over there.”

  “Yuck. Those are too sweet,” Nina whined. “They make my teeth hurt.”

  “Sorry. We’ve got to go,” I said. I didn’t bother to make an excuse. I just pulled Jackson away.

  I tugged him past a frozen yogurt store and a Make-Your-Own Panda Bear shop. When the Lerner twins were out of sight, I let go. I slumped against a store window and sighed.

  “I was looking forward to that movie for a month,” Jackson groaned. “And that jerk Artie ruined it.”

  I pulled out my cell phone and checked the time. “What are we going to do? We have two hours to kill before Mom and Dad come to pick us up.”

  “Hey, we’re at the mall,” Jackson said. “How hard is it to kill time?”

  Jackson and I started to walk. He stopped in front of the video game store and stared at some kind of battle game for awhile. I went next door to check out some tennis rackets.

  We walked the whole first floor. Then we sat down and had cinnamon buns. “Too sweet,” Jackson said. He had icing smeared on his chin.

  I finished mine in three bites. “Way too sweet!” I agreed. We both laughed.

  “Know what I’d do if I was a superhero?” Jackson asked. He was gazing into a travel store with a snowy skiing photo in the window. “I’d pick up both of those wimpy Lerner kids. I’d fly them to the North Pole and leave them on an ice floe with a hungry polar bear.”

  I shook my head. “Too good for them,” I said. “I’d use mind control powers and give them the brains of one-year-olds.” I laughed. “Miss Hawking would have to change their diapers in class!”

  We both laughed like lunatics. Jackson and I even have the same cackling laugh.

  A short while later, we walked outside to where we always meet Mom and Dad. The parking lot was wet, filled with puddles. It must have rained while we were inside the mall.

  Suddenly, Jackson gave me a hard shove — and screamed, “Jillian — LOOK OUT!”

  I let out a cry as a wave of icy water splashed over me.

  I staggered back. Grabbed on to my brother. We both frantically shook water off. We were drenched!

  Wiping water from my eyes, I saw a big blue SUV roaring past. The huge car had sent a wave of rainwater over us.

  And as the car rolled past, I saw Nina and Artie in the backseat. They were shrugging and mouthing the word sorry over and over again out the window.

  I hugged myself. I was shivering. “I really hate those kids,” I muttered through gritted teeth.

  “None of our friends can stand them, either,” Jackson said. He studied his new sweater. Totally soaked and ruined.

  He sighed. “I can’t believe they invited us to their birthday party.”

  “I can’t believe Mom and Dad are making us go!” I replied.

  I glanced around. Stores were closing. There were just a few cars left in the big lot, glistening with raindrops under the tall lights. “Where are Mom and Dad? They’re late.”

  “Probably watching a ball game and forgot about us,” Jackson muttered.

  Mom and Dad are White Sox freaks.

  I wiped water off my forehead with my hand. Something caught my eye near the mall entrance. A small booth bathed in a purple glow.

  “Check that out,” I said.

  Jackson followed me as I turned and walked over to it. “Cool!” he said. He read the sign above the little booth out loud: ‘Madame Doom.’

  A fortune-teller’s booth. It looked like the ticket taker’s booth at the movie theater. The front was glass with a small window cut out of it. It was glass on three sides and it had no roof. Red and purple lights blinked on and off all around it.

  Behind the glass, a wooden figure sat in front of a red curtain. An old fortune-teller. She was dressed in purple with a long purple scarf over her black wig.

  Her cheeks were bright red. Her eyes were black. The paint was cracked and one eyebrow was chipped away. She leaned toward the glass. It looked as if she was staring right at us.

  “Awesome,” I said. “Let’s find out our fortunes. Where do you put the money?”

  We searched till we found a slot on the side of the booth. Jackson found a quarter in his pocket. He slipped it into the slot.

  I heard a creaking sound. Slowly, the wooden figure began to move.

  Madame Doom blinked her eyes. Her head rolled back, then forward. One pink hand lowered heavily to her side. With a loud click, a small white card slid into the hand. Then slowly … very slowly … creaking loudly … she raised the card to us.

  I stuck my hand into the opening in the glass. I stretched my fingers as far as they could go. But I couldn’t reach the card.

  “Her hand is stuck,” I said. “It won’t come up all the way.”

  Jackson shoved me out of the way. “Let me try.”

  He leaned into the booth. He stretched … stretched … reaching as far down as he could. I put my hands on his shoulders and gave him a little push.

  And … ZZZZZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAP!

  We both opened our mouths in shrill screams.

  My whole body shook and danced as a powerful shock stung me. Jolted me hard. And sent pain shooting out over my arms and legs.

  My eyes shut. I bit my tongue.

  Jackson and I fell to our knees. The electric shock had stopped. But my whole body tingled in pain.

  I clenched my fists. I took breath after breath. I opened my eyes — and saw the little white card flutter to the ground.

  I climbed shakily to my feet. My heart was still pounding wildly.

  “Are you okay?” I asked my brother.

  Jackson nodded. He stood up and stretched his arms over his head. “Wow. That was a bad shock,” he said. “But I’m okay.”

  My hand trembled as I picked up the card.
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  “Jillian, read it,” Jackson said. “What does it say?”

  I had to hold the card between both hands to stop it from shaking. The words on it were in tiny black letters.

  I read it to myself. Then I read it out loud to Jackson: “ ‘Welcome to Horrorland.’ ”

  “Huh?”

  I handed the card to him. He stared at it. Then he looked at me. “HorrorLand? What is that? An amusement park or something?”

  I shrugged. “Beats me. What a loser fortune.”

  A horn honked. I turned to see our car. Dad waved from behind the wheel.

  I still felt shaky as I climbed into the backseat. Tingly all over.

  “How was the movie?” Dad asked.

  “Awesome,” Jackson said. “I can’t wait to see it again!”

  * * *

  The next morning, I beat Jackson down to breakfast. We have a race every morning. First one into the kitchen gets ten points.

  I don’t know why we do it. Jackson hates to wake up. So far, I’ve won every morning. I think the score is about ten thousand to nothing.

  I said good morning to Mom and Dad and dropped into my seat at the kitchen table. “Here’s a surprise,” Mom said. She set a plate of waffles down in front of me.

  I blinked. “I knew you were going to make waffles,” I said. We usually just have toast or a Pop-Tart.

  “You smelled them?” Mom asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  “No,” I said. “I really knew it. Like a premonition or something.”

  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Jackson staggered up to the table. He yawned loudly right in my face. He thinks that’s funny.

  “I got ten points — again,” I said.

  He slumped into his chair at the other end of the table. I gazed down at the steaming-hot waffles and sniffed. I love the smell of waffles in the morning.

  “Jackson, would you pass the syrup?” I asked.

  I heard a soft zzzip, and when I looked up from the waffles, the syrup bottle was right in front of me.

  “How did you get it to me so fast? Did you throw it?” I asked.

  Jackson had the strangest look on his face. He stared at the syrup bottle as if he’d never seen one before.

  Mom set Jackson’s waffles in front of him. He reached for his fork — and bumped it off the table. It clattered onto the kitchen floor.