Stinetinglers--All New Stories by the Master of Scary Tales Read online

  In the total darkness, something moved at the edge of the playground. I heard the shuffle of feet on the grass. Several kids came into view. They moved toward me silently.

  I jumped up from the swing. “Hey—!”

  Too dark. I couldn’t see their faces.

  No one spoke. I called out again. “Hey—!” I took a step toward them.

  Moving quickly, they formed a circle around me. They pressed in on me, dark figures, solid black against the black sky. I squinted hard.

  And then I let out a startled cry when I realized they didn’t have faces!

  They were shadows. Silent shadows in a tight circle around me.

  No eyes. No faces. Kids made of shadow.

  “I—I—” I stammered, unable to find words.

  And then one of them finally spoke. “Welcome,” a girl shadow said, her voice a soft whisper floating on the cold air. “Welcome to the In-Between.”

  I gasped. “Huh? What are you talking about? Who are you?”

  “Welcome,” a boy said in a hoarse whisper. “We came to welcome you.”

  “Welcome me to what?” My voice cracked. “Why can’t I see you?”

  “We are the kids of the In-Between,” the girl said. “You are one of us now.”

  My brain was spinning. I was desperate to figure out what these kids wanted. “You’re in some kind of club?” I said. “What’s an In-Between club? What are you talking about?”

  “We are caught between time,” the girl said in her throaty whisper.

  “We can’t go forward or back,” another boy said. “We are stuck, and now you are, too. Stuck in between time.”

  “You—you’re trying to scare me,” I stammered.

  “No. We’re here to welcome you,” the girl said.

  And then they all began to chant in a low whisper …

  “Welcome to the In-Between …

  “Welcome to the In-Between …

  “Welcome to the In-Between…”

  Their voices rumbled in my ears, growing louder as they repeated the words.

  “Stop!” I shouted. “Stop it! Go away! Leave me alone!”

  “Welcome to the In-Between …

  “Welcome to the In-Between …

  “Welcome to the In-Between…”

  “Nooooo!” A terrified howl burst from my throat. I lurched forward. Tried to run.

  But they pressed tightly around me, a shadowy wall. I couldn’t break through. No way to escape.

  “Welcome to the In-Between …

  “Welcome to the In-Between…”

  As I stared at them in horror, a girl reached out her shadowy hand and touched my shoulder.

  “Ohh,” I groaned as I felt the cold of her touch seep into my skin.

  She grabbed my hand. Her fingers felt like icicles. I shuddered as the cold swept over my arm.

  “Welcome to the In-Between …

  “Welcome to the In-Between…”

  A boy touched my forehead with his gray shadow hand. My skin froze under his touch.

  My hand tingled, numb where the girl held it. She finally let go, and I stared down at it. Gray now. Gray and numb. My hand was a shadow hand!

  “Nooooo.” I let out a howl.

  I grabbed a boy’s arm. I couldn’t feel it. My hand slid right off.

  I could hear my own breathing. I felt weak. I could feel myself slipping into the gray. Disappearing …

  My arms … my legs … all darkening to shadows. I was becoming one of them!

  “Welcome to the In-Between …

  “Welcome to the In-Between…”

  “Whooooaaaa!” Another cry escaped my throat, weaker this time, my voice mostly air.

  Panic made my whole body tremble. I could feel the world going into shadow. Feel myself fading away.

  “Welcome …

  “Welcome…”

  Their chant repeated in my ears. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think.

  I had to do something. I fumbled for the broken watch in my jeans pocket. I tugged it out. Then I dug into the pocket until I found the tiny battery.

  I held the watch in one hand, the battery between the fingers of my other hand.

  Both hands were trembling shadows. I couldn’t feel them. I could barely see them.

  I took a deep breath. I shut my eyes. And I jammed the battery into the back of the watch.

  “Whoa!”

  An explosion of sound made my ears ring. I fell to my knees. The sky rumbled and the ground beneath me shook. The roar of the explosion made my head feel like it was about to splatter apart.

  When the sound finally faded, I opened my eyes. The chanting had stopped. The shadow kids were gone.

  I raised my eyes to the sky. Evening gray again. The pale full moon was back, floating just above the trees.

  Was time moving again?

  I ran all the way home. Dad met me at the door. “Gabe, where did you go? We had to hold up dinner for you.”

  “You should have told us you were going out,” Mom said. “It’s after seven thirty.”

  “Yessss!” I cried. “Yesss!” I hugged them both. I wanted to cry. I wanted to jump up and down and cheer.

  I pumped both fists in the air. “I’m back! I’m back! I’m not an In-Betweener!” I shouted.

  “What are you talking about?” Mom demanded. “You’re acting totally weird. Go wash your hands and sit down for dinner.”

  On my way to the bathroom, I walked past the den and glanced at the tall grandfather clock: 7:35. “Yessss!” I ran up to the clock and kissed it. Then I hurried to get ready for dinner.

  * * *

  The next morning, Dad took me to an electronics shop to buy a birthday gift for Carver. We walked up and down the aisles, looking at phones, and headphones, and game players, and cameras.

  “What do you think Carver would like?” Dad asked.

  “Hmmm…” I thought about it. “I’m not sure.”

  Dad frowned at me. “You should have thought about it, Gabe. It’s the last minute. You need to start thinking about things in advance.”

  “You’re definitely right, Dad,” I said. “But—”

  Dad picked up something from the tabletop display. “Carver is a lot like you, right? Then I know he’ll like this a lot.”

  He held it up to me. A smart watch.

  I thought about my watch. I carefully rewrapped it with new paper last night and hid it back in the closet with my other gifts.

  A smart watch for Carver?

  He’ll be careful with it, I told myself.

  I was desperate for a gift. The party was only a few hours away.

  “Yes. That’s a terrific idea, Dad,” I said.

  * * *

  That afternoon, Carver met me at the door to his house. He slapped his forehead. “I don’t believe it!” he said. “Gabe, you are the first one to arrive!”

  “It’s the new me,” I said. “Always on time.”

  His eyes went to the gift-wrapped present in my hand. I handed it to him. “Happy birthday,” I said.

  He studied it. “Hey, thanks. What is it?”

  “Go ahead. Open it,” I told him.

  He ripped away the wrapping. “Oh, wow!” he exclaimed. “Totally awesome! My own smart watch! Awesome!”

  He tore it out of the plastic package and started to wrap the band around his wrist. His hand slipped, and he let out a cry. “Oh no! I dropped it! Oh, wow. I think it broke.”

  OUR LITTLE MONSTERS

  When my brother, Bill, and I were in middle school, we used to babysit for our little cousins, Eddie and Jon. They were nice boys, but as soon as their parents left the house, they’d climb on Bill and me and wrestle us and pound us and punch and beat us to a pulp.

  When their parents returned and asked, “How were the boys?” we always said, “Oh, they were wonderful.” Then Bill and I would limp home, beaten and bruised.

  I’ve always thought babysitting was a dangerous job.

  I remembered my two little c
ousins when I thought of this story.

  “Ow! Don’t bite!”

  I shoved my brother Sean away with both hands. But the little monster dove for me again, snapping his little teeth and giggling.

  I grabbed him by the shoulders and held him away. “I’m warning you,” I said. “I’ll bite back!”

  That made him and Chloe howl with laughter. This is what happens whenever Mom and Dad go out and leave me in charge of the twins. They’re wild and ferocious and out of control, and they like to gang up on me.

  They’re four years old and small for their age. And I’m twelve and the tallest girl in my sixth-grade class. But, trust me, when it comes to Sean and Chloe, size doesn’t matter.

  With a cry of attack, Sean grabbed me around the neck and pulled my head down to the couch arm. “Hey—don’t take my head off!” I cried.

  They both thought that was a riot. They have shrill little laughs. It sounds like chipmunks giggling.

  I grabbed Sean around the waist and lifted the little guy into the air. He kicked and squirmed. “Put me down! Put me down, Becka!”

  Chloe sank her teeth into my leg, and I nearly dropped Sean. They’re both terrible biters. When I tell Mom what they do to me, she just says, “Deal with it.”

  I lowered Sean to the floor and picked up Chloe. “No more biting. I’ll have to put you on a leash.” I smoothed back her curly brown hair. It looks like poodle fur. The twins aren’t identical. Sean has straight black hair and big black eyes.

  “Can we stay up late and wrestle some more?” Sean asked.

  Before I could answer, my phone rang. Chloe tried to grab it, but I swiped it away from her. It was my friend Izzy. Her real name is Isabella, but even her parents call her Izzy.

  “What’s up?” Izzy asked.

  “I can’t talk,” I said. “I’m watching the twins.”

  “You’re going to get a medal,” she replied. “For bravery.”

  “They’re not that bad,” I said.

  “Oh, really?” Izzy knows how berserk the twins can be. “I don’t know how you babysit them. I think all kids should be locked in a closet until they’re at least ten.”

  “You’re sick,” I said. “I think—” I didn’t finish my sentence. I let out a cry. “Oh NO! Gotta go!” And I clicked off the phone.

  I leaped off the couch and went racing to the kitchen. Too late. Sean and Chloe had found the big bowl of chocolate cake batter Mom prepared this morning. And they were already digging their hands into the bowl and heaving big gobs of chocolate at each other.

  “Stop! Stop it!” I shouted.

  Splaaaat.

  A wet gob of cake batter smacked my forehead. The batter oozed down my nose and cheeks.

  That caused a burst of chipmunk laughter. And another blob of batter came flying at me. I ducked and it splattered on the carpet.

  “Hey—stop! No more!” I begged.

  I dove to the kitchen table and reached for the bowl of cake batter. I plunged my hand into the bowl, raised a big handful of chocolate—and smeared it all over Chloe’s forehead.

  Sean laughed and ducked away. But he wasn’t fast enough. I pushed a big hunk of batter onto his nose and wiped it over his cheeks.

  All three of us were laughing now and having the best chocolate cake battle ever. Go with the flow. That’s how I deal with the twins. And we always have the best time together.

  By the time Mom and Dad got home, the twins were sound asleep in their beds. I had cleaned up all the globs and chunks of cake batter. Made it all into a cake. And I had the cake baking in the oven.

  Dad took a long sip from his water bottle. “How were Sean and Chloe?” he asked.

  “They were angels,” I said.

  Dad spit his water into the air. He and Mom both burst out laughing. They know what the twins are really like.

  “If you can handle those two,” Mom said, “you could handle anyone. Becka, you’re a terrific babysitter.”

  And that’s when I got the idea. I knew how I could earn some spending money and use my talents at the same time. “Mom, what if I got babysitting jobs?” I asked. “I’m old enough, and you just said how good I am at it.”

  She and Dad exchanged glances. “I guess you could find some jobs here in the neighborhood,” Mom said. “But it’s hard work, Becka.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I think little kids are fun.”

  I suddenly felt very excited by the idea. What could go wrong?

  * * *

  The next day, I talked about it with Izzy in the lunchroom at school. When I told her my idea, she dropped her peanut butter sandwich on the table. “Don’t you have enough of a workout from the twins?” she asked. “Do you seriously like torture?”

  “I don’t think it’s torture,” I said. “You just play with the kids. Let them go a little nuts. Wear them out and put them to bed.”

  Izzy shuddered. “I think little kids should be kept in jars and only taken out at mealtimes.”

  I laughed. “Why am I starting to get the idea you don’t like kids?”

  “I like them fried on a bun with special sauce.”

  Izzy is a real comedian. I mean, she’s funny all the time.

  “Listen. You could come with me,” I said. “We could babysit together and split the money. That would be fun.”

  She took a big bite of her sandwich. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Okay, okay. Don’t come,” I said. “But how do you think I find jobs? Mom and Dad don’t want to drive me anywhere. So it has to be in the neighborhood.”

  “We could print out little posters or signs,” Izzy said. “Maybe put them in some of the shops on Main Street. Or maybe on mailboxes or telephone poles.”

  “That might work,” I replied. “What should they say?”

  “Insane Person Looking for Torture by Little Monsters,” Izzy suggested.

  “I like it,” I said.

  We both laughed.

  That night, I wrote a sign and printed it out. I kept it simple. I just wrote: “NEIGHBORHOOD BABYSITTER. Good with all kids. Lots of experience.” And I put my phone number at the bottom.

  I printed a big stack of them in a bold black font. I thought they looked very professional.

  On Saturday, Izzy helped me take them around to some of the little shops on Main Street. And we taped a bunch of them to poles along the sidewalks.

  “Lots of kids in this neighborhood,” Izzy said. “Your phone will probably start ringing before you even get home.”

  But she was wrong.

  No one called. I kept my phone with me day and night. I kept taking it out and staring at it. I guess I was willing it to ring. But it didn’t.

  A week went by. And then two. And I didn’t get a single phone call.

  I was about to give up on the whole idea when I stumbled onto my first job.

  * * *

  I was walking home after school with Izzy. It was a gray day with dark storm clouds hanging low overhead. “Is today Friday the thirteenth?” I asked her. “Because I’ve been unlucky all day.”

  Izzy frowned at me. “Spilling chocolate milk on your new white sweater wasn’t bad luck. It was just klutziness,” she said.

  “You’re always such a good friend,” I said. “Where would I be without you there to tell me what a loser I am?”

  She stopped and grabbed my arm. “I think your luck is about to change, Becka.”

  I followed her gaze to the house high on a lawn behind ragged hedges. The Butcher House. Everyone called it that. I don’t know why. Maybe someone named Butcher lived there sometime.

  It was an empty, abandoned house. No one had lived in it for maybe a hundred years. It was big and dark and stained and crumbling, with broken shingles and missing shutters, and shattered glass in a lot of the windows.

  I saw a man and woman on the tilting front stoop. The woman was struggling with a key, trying to open the front door. “Someone is moving into the Butcher House,” I said. “How is that going t
o change my luck?”

  Izzy pointed to the side of the stoop. “Check that out.”

  I saw a small bike and two little silver scooters. “Kids!” I said. “They have kids.”

  “And they are just moving in,” Izzy said. “They’re going to need a babysitter.” She gave me a push. “Go talk to them. Go tell them you can babysit for them.”

  I held back. “They’re just moving in. They probably don’t want to be bothered.”

  She gave me another push. “This is your big chance, Becka. Be bold.”

  “Come with me,” I said. “We can—”

  “No. You have to do this,” she replied. “Besides, I’m late for my cello lesson.”

  Izzy’s cello is as big as she is, but she’s a talented player.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, suddenly feeling a fluttering in my chest. “See you tomorrow.”

  She gave me a wave, shifted the backpack on her back, then hurried away. I took a deep breath and made my way over the weed-choked front lawn to the house.

  The woman had just managed to open the front door and was about to go inside when she saw me. They both turned. The man wore a gray hoodie pulled down over black overalls. He was pale and very thin, with gray slits for eyes and a serious expression.

  The woman had short, straight black hair and dark eyes. She was also very pale, which made her deep purple lipstick seem to pop off her face. A long, beaded earring dangled from one ear.

  “Hi!” I called, a little too loudly. I stopped at the bottom of the stoop. “Are you moving in?” Why did I ask that? Of course they were!

  “Trying to,” the man said without smiling. He had a thin, whispery voice.

  “I’m Becka Martin,” I said. “I live on the next block. And—”

  “We don’t know the neighborhood at all,” the woman said. “We’re new in town.”

  “It looks nice here,” the man said. “Very quiet.”

  “It’s pretty quiet,” I said. “It’s like … a normal neighborhood.” Awkward. I pointed to the bike and the scooters. “You have kids?”

  They glanced at each other, as if trying to decide how to answer. The woman tugged at her dangling earring. “Two kids. Four and five.”