44 - Say Cheese and Die—Again Read online

  SAY CHEESE AND

  DIE—AGAIN!

  Goosebumps - 44

  R.L. Stine

  (An Undead Scan v1.5)

  1

  “Greg Banks!”

  A shiver ran down the back of my neck as Mr. Saur called my name. I had been slumping low in my seat in the last row of the classroom. I tried to hide behind Brian Webb, the big gorilla of a kid who sits in front of me.

  And I folded my hands and prayed that Mr. Saur wouldn’t call on me to give my report next.

  “Greg Banks!” he called.

  I felt another cold shiver. Then my legs started to shake as I climbed to my feet. Then my throat tightened until I could barely breathe.

  I hate giving reports in front of the whole class.

  Especially when I haven’t had much time to practice. Especially when we’re not allowed to have notes. Especially when half of our grade in English depends on how we do on this report.

  I cleared my throat and made my way up to the front of the classroom. I was halfway there when Donny Greene stuck his big white sneaker into the aisle and tripped me.

  I stumbled—but didn’t fall. The whole class exploded in laughter, anyway.

  Mr. Saur frowned at Donny. “Donny, do you have to trip every person who walks by you?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” Donny replied with a straight face.

  And once again, the whole class burst out laughing.

  Everyone thinks Donny is a riot. Everyone but Mr. Saur.

  Mr. Saur doesn’t think anyone is funny. That’s why we call him Sourball Saur. He probably wouldn’t think that was funny, either!

  Mr. Saur is tall and thin and nearly bald. He never kids around. He never smiles. His mouth is always puckered, as if he’s just bitten into a lemon.

  Sourball Saur.

  He’s sort of a legend at Pitts Landing Middle School. Everyone tries not to get him. My best friends—Michael, Bird, and Shari—were lucky. They’re in Miss Folsom’s class. I was the only one who got stuck with the Sourball.

  I stepped up beside his desk and cleared my throat again. I wondered if everyone could see my knees shaking. My face felt burning hot. My hands were cold as ice.

  Does everyone get this nervous when they stand in front of the class?

  Mr. Saur folded his pale, skinny hands on his desk and cracked his knuckles. “Okay, Greg, let’s hear your true story,” he said.

  I cleared my throat for the thousandth time. I took a deep breath. Then I started to tell the story of what happened to my friends and me last summer….

  “I was hanging out with my friends. Bird, Michael, and Shari. We had nothing to do, and we were kind of bored. So we dared each other to do something exciting. We dared each other to sneak into the Coffman house.”

  Mr. Saur raised a hand to interrupt me. He frowned his sour frown. “What’s the Coffman house?”

  “It’s a haunted house!” Donny Greene called out.

  “It’s where Donny lives!” Brian Webb mumbled, loud enough for everyone to hear. It got a big laugh.

  Mr. Saur raised both hands for quiet and gave everyone his lemon expression.

  “It’s a deserted, old house in my neighborhood,” I told him. “We went inside. Down to the basement. And we found an old camera. And that’s what my true story is about. Because the camera had evil powers.”

  Mr. Saur groaned and rolled his eyes. Some kids laughed. But I took another deep breath and continued my story.

  “It was an instant camera. The picture popped right out. But it was never the picture we snapped. It always showed something terrible happening.

  “I took the old camera home. I snapped a photo of my dad’s new station wagon. The photo slid out. In the photo, the station wagon was totaled. Completely wrecked. And then, a few days later, my dad was in a terrible accident. The photo came true.”

  I glanced around the room to see how my story was going over. A few kids were laughing. Others were staring at me hard. Trying to decide if I was for real.

  Brian Webb tried to make me lose it. He stuck his two pointer fingers into his nostrils and twirled them around. He thinks he’s funny, but he’s just gross.

  “I took a snapshot of my friend Bird Arthur,” I continued. “At his Little League game. Bird smiled and posed for the camera. But the photo showed him lying unconscious on the ground.

  “Then, a few minutes later, a kid hit a line drive. It smacked Bird in the head. And Bird fell unconscious on the ground. Just like in the photo.”

  I heard some nervous giggles from the back of the room. I glanced up to see puzzled expressions on a lot of faces. Brian still had his fingers in his nose. I turned away. No way was I going to laugh at that.

  Mr. Saur had his elbows on the desk and his round, bald head buried in his hands. His face was hidden. So I couldn’t tell if he liked my report or not.

  “Then something even more scary happened,” I continued. “I brought the camera to Shari Walker’s birthday party. I snapped Shari’s picture, standing next to a tree.

  “When the photo popped out, it showed the tree—but no Shari. It was like she was invisible or something. And then, a few minutes later, Shari disappeared.”

  A few kids gasped. Some others laughed. Mr. Saur still had his face buried in his hands.

  “A couple of days later, Shari came back,” I told them. “But now we were too frightened to keep the camera. So we took it back to the Coffman house. And we met this strange guy, dressed all in black. He was the inventor of the camera. He told us that the camera had a curse on it, and—”

  To my surprise, Mr. Saur jumped to his feet. “That will be enough,” he snapped.

  “Excuse me?” I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly.

  The room went silent.

  Mr. Saur shook his head. Then he narrowed his watery brown eyes at me. “Greg,” he said, “I have some very bad news for you.”

  2

  The lunch bell rang.

  “We’ll hear more reports tomorrow,” Mr. Saur announced. “Class dismissed.”

  Chairs scraped the floor as everyone stood up. I watched the other kids gather up their books and backpacks and head for the door. Freedom.

  I had an urge to run after them. But Mr. Saur kept his eyes locked on me, holding me in place with those cold eyes.

  I waited until the classroom had emptied out. Then I turned to the lemon-faced teacher. “What’s the bad news?” I gritted my teeth.

  “I’m giving you an F,” Sourball said.

  “Huh?”

  “I’m failing you on that report, Greg.”

  I felt my knees give. I had to grab the chalk tray to keep myself from collapsing in a quivering heap on the floor. “B—but—but—why?” I choked out.

  He crossed his bony arms over the front of his yellow alligator-shirt. I wished the alligator would reach up and bite him.

  “You didn’t do the assignment,” he said.

  “But—but—but—” I still gripped the chalk tray. My legs were shaking too hard to stand up.

  “Greg, you were supposed to share a true story,” Mr. Saur scolded. “Instead, you came in here with that wild tale. It was completely silly. I don’t know what you were thinking!”

  “But it’s true!” I wailed. “The camera—”

  He waved a hand in my face. “Silly,” he repeated. “You came in here with a wild, silly story. Something you probably read in a comic book.”

  “Mr. Saur—!” I started. I let go of the chalk tray and balled my hands into tight fists. “You have to believe me. The camera is real. I didn’t make up the story.”

  I took a deep breath. Then I struggled to keep my voice low and calm. “You can ask my friends,” I told hi
m. “They’re in Miss Folsom’s class. They’ll tell you it really happened.”

  “I’m sure they will.” He smirked at me. “I’m sure your friends will tell me whatever you want them to tell me.”

  “No. Really—!” I protested.

  Mr. Saur shook his head. “You didn’t take the assignment seriously, Greg. You treated it like a big joke. So I have to give you an F.”

  I raised my fists and let out a loud groan.

  Greg, get control, I warned myself. Get control.

  But how could I get control? The grade was so unfair. And it meant so much to me.

  It was a matter of life or death!

  “Mr. Saur—you can’t give me an F!” I wailed. I felt like dropping to my knees and begging for mercy. “You will ruin my life!”

  He stared coldly at me. He didn’t say a word.

  “If I don’t get better grades, I can’t visit my cousins this summer,” I explained. “You see, my cousins live near Yosemite. In California. And my parents said that if I get a better grade in your English class, I can spend the summer with them.”

  He didn’t move. His cold frown didn’t budge. His eyes didn’t blink.

  “If you give me an F, I’ll be stuck all summer in Pitts Landing!” I cried.

  Finally, Mr. Saur moved. An unpleasant smile spread over his face. His wet brown eyes flashed. “Then you’ll have plenty of time to make up more crazy stories,” he said.

  He turned away from me and started scribbling notes in his black grade book.

  “Mr. Saur—please!” I begged. “You’ve got to believe me. My story is true. I didn’t make it up. Please—”

  He raised his eyes from the grade book. “Okay. Prove it.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Huh?”

  “Bring in the camera,” he said. “Bring it in and prove that it’s evil. Prove that your story is true—or else I have to fail you.”

  I stared at him, studying his face. Was he serious?

  He stared back for a moment, daring me with his eyes. Then he shooed me away with both hands. “Go to lunch, Greg. Maybe next time you’ll take my assignment seriously.”

  I gathered up my backpack and slung it over my shoulder. Then I slumped out of the room, thinking hard.

  Could I go back to that creepy old house and dig out that camera?

  No. No way.

  The camera was too dangerous. Too frightening. Too evil.

  But I needed a good grade. I needed it desperately.

  What should I do?

  3

  I found my friends at our usual table in the corner of the lunchroom. I dropped my tray down with a sigh, and spilled half my drink.

  “Greg—what’s your problem?” Bird looked up from his sandwich. He had egg salad all over his chin and cheeks.

  “Are you eating that sandwich or wearing it?” Shari asked him.

  “Excuse me?” Bird didn’t understand.

  Michael inflated his brown paper sandwich bag and popped it between his hands. Then he crushed his chocolate milk carton flat. He always gulps his milk down first, then crushes the carton. We’re not sure why.

  Michael is a little weird.

  I dropped into my chair. I didn’t start to eat. I didn’t even look at my food tray. I just stared at the wall until the tiles became a green blur.

  “What’s your problem?” Bird repeated. Now he had egg salad on his forehead, too! I don’t know how he does it.

  Bird’s real name is Doug Arthur. But he looks so much like a bird, everyone calls him Bird. Even his parents.

  He has small, birdlike brown eyes, close together over a long, beak-shaped nose. And he has a short tuft of feathery brown hair on top of his head. He’s tall and thin and sort of bobs up and down like a flamingo when he walks.

  Michael poked a finger through his sandwich. He always makes a hole in the center of his sandwich and eats it inside out. “Bad day, Greg?”

  “For sure,” I muttered. I sighed again.

  Shari wore a pale blue T-shirt over faded jeans. She tossed back her black hair. She was busy pulling the bright red pepperoni off her pizza slice. “Come on, Greg. Spill,” she urged without looking up.

  I took a deep breath. Then I told them what had happened to me in English class.

  Bird dropped his sandwich onto the table. “Sourball didn’t believe you?” he cried. He slapped his forehead. When he pulled his hand away, his fingers were smeared with egg salad.

  “Well, we could all go tell him it’s true,” Shari suggested.

  I shook my head. “He won’t believe you, either,” I moaned.

  “But we all saw it!” Michael protested. “We all know it’s true.”

  “Yeah. It’s four against one,” Bird added. He was wiping egg salad off the front of his shirt. “He’ll have to believe us.”

  “He won’t,” I sighed. “You know Sourball. He said I have to bring in the camera and prove to him that it’s evil.”

  “But you can’t!” Michael and Shari cried together.

  I glanced over their shoulders. Brian and Donny were grinning at me from the next table. Brian and Donny are the two biggest guys at Pitts Landing Middle School. We call them Sumo One and Sumo Two—because they’re both shaped a little like sumo wrestlers.

  Of course, no one has ever called them Sumo One or Sumo Two to their faces. When Donny and Brian get angry, they sit on kids and squash them like bugs.

  And now, they had followed me from Mr. Saur’s class and were grinning at me from the next table. When they saw me watching, they formed little square cameras with their fingers and raised them in front of their eyes.

  “Click! Click!” Brian called. “I’ve got an evil camera here!”

  “Say cheese!” Donny shouted. “Say cheese—and die! Ha-ha-ha!”

  “Click. Click. Click.” They clicked their air cameras.

  “Watch the birdie!” Donny cried.

  “Watch the birdbrain!” Brian yelled.

  They both tossed back their heads and laughed like lunatics, slapping each other high fives.

  “Funny, guys,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Real funny.”

  “You two should do stand-up,” Michael told them. “You should stand up in the corner!”

  No one laughed. No one ever laughs at Michael’s jokes. His jokes are never funny. In fact, they are embarrassing.

  Michael has short red hair, blue eyes, and a face full of freckles. He isn’t exactly fat—but no one would ever call him skinny.

  One of these days, he’s going to surprise us and make a joke that isn’t totally lame.

  But I was in no mood for jokes, anyway. My summer was about to be ruined. My three friends all had plans to go away. No way I wanted to be left all alone in Pitts Landing with nothing to do for three months!

  If I had to bring in that camera to prove to Mr. Saur that I was telling the truth… I’d do it!

  Shari must have read my thoughts. She reached across the table and grabbed my arm. “Greg—you can’t,” she said. “That camera is too dangerous.”

  Bird agreed. “I’m not going back to that weird house,” he said, shaking his head. “Never again.”

  “Hey—what about your brother?” Michael asked me.

  I turned to him, confused. “What about my brother?”

  “Isn’t he working in a camera store?” Michael demanded.

  I nodded. My older brother, Terry, was working at Kramer’s Photo Store after school. “Yeah. He’s at Kramer’s. He works in the developing lab. So what?”

  “Maybe Terry could borrow an old camera from the store,” Michael suggested. “You can bring it in and tell Mr. Saur it’s the evil camera.”

  “Just one problem,” I told Michael. “I have to prove the camera is evil. How do I do that?”

  Michael thought about it. And thought.

  “It won’t work,” I sighed. “We have to go get the real camera.” I glanced around the table. “Who will go with me?”

  No one answered. Bird concen
trated on getting the egg salad out from under his fingernails. Shari twisted a lock of black hair around one finger. Michael stared at the floor.

  “Don’t all volunteer at once,” I grumbled.

  They still didn’t move.

  “I just need the camera for one day,” I added. “Then we’ll return it and never take it out again.”

  No one replied. Bird raised his beady little eyes to the ceiling and started whistling to himself.

  I sneered at them. “Okay, wimps. I’ll go by myself.”

  “Don’t do it,” Shari warned again. “Not even for a day. Something horrible will happen. I know it will.”

  If only I had listened to her.

  4

  The rest of the afternoon, I barely heard a word anyone said. I think I had a spelling quiz. I think we played volleyball in gym. I think someone slammed the ball onto my head.

  Did it hurt? Did I have to leave the game for a while?

  I really don’t remember.

  In music class, Miss Jakes caught me staring out the window, a dazed look on my face. She thought it was because of the volleyball accident. She wanted to send me to the nurse.

  But I explained that I was okay. I told her I wasn’t hurt—I was only daydreaming.

  I didn’t explain that I was thinking hard. Thinking about that evil camera hidden away in the Coffman house.

  Thinking about how I was going to sneak out after dinner. Ride my bike up the hill to the deserted old house. Creep down to the basement—and pull the camera from its hiding place in the wall.

  I’m going to prove the camera is evil, Sourball. I’m going to prove you’re wrong and unfair! I thought bitterly.

  I’m going to prove it to Brian and Donny and all the other kids who laughed at my story.

  I’m going to get an A for my report. Not an F.

  I thought about all that. And I thought about Shari, Michael, and Bird.

  I didn’t blame my friends for being scared. I was scared, too. I promised myself I’d be really careful.

  I’ll bring it to school. But I won’t take anyone’s picture with it, I decided.