Wanted Page 3

  “Too scary,” he murmured. His eyes were on the clothes closet across the bedroom.

  “Go ahead. Check out the closet,” I said. I tugged him up. “Go look in the closet. You’ll see. It’s empty. There’s no one in there.”

  He pulled back. “I don’t want to.”

  “It’s just a story,” I said. “Quick. Go look in the closet. Prove it to yourself. Then you can go to sleep.”

  He climbed slowly to his feet. His eyes were locked on the closet door. He crossed the room to the closet.

  “Go ahead. Open it,” I urged. “You’ll see. No one there.”

  Mitch grabbed the door handle. He pulled open the door — and a hideous old man with long curled fangs and a dangling eyeball came roaring out at him.

  Mitch opened his mouth in a shriek of horror.

  I clapped my hands to my face. “My story!” I cried. “It came true!”

  Mitch fell on his back, screaming.

  The disgusting old man stopped. He raised both fists above his head and roared like a raging lion.

  I burst out laughing.

  My friend Brad Delaney pulled off the old-man mask. It took a while to tug the rubber mask off his face. He started to laugh, too. He flashed me a thumbs-up.

  It didn’t take Mitch long to figure out what was up. I told you he’s real smart.

  “You two planned this whole thing, right?”

  I nodded. “Brad sneaked and hid in the closet while you were having your milk and cookies.”

  “Did I scare you?” Brad asked Mitch, grinning.

  Mitch leaped to his feet. With an angry roar, he flung himself at me and started pounding me with both fists.

  “You jerk! You jerk!”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, squirming away, trying to protect myself. “Stop. It was a joke, okay?”

  “A stupid joke,” Mitch said, breathing hard. “A stupid joke from a stupid girl.”

  “I guess he liked it,” Brad said.

  Brad has a dry sense of humor. He loves to play jokes like this on people. And he never feels bad if he scares them.

  Actually, I’ve never seen Brad feel bad. He’s always mellow. Like he’s just floating on air. Know what I mean?

  Brad has a lot of friends. Parents like him, too. I guess it’s because he’s just the happiest, easiest kid to know.

  “You’re not funny. You’re stupid!” Mitch cried. “I hate your stories. They’re too dumb. Like you.”

  I clamped my hands on his shoulders and pushed him away so he couldn’t punch me anymore.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I just wanted to get you ready for Halloween. It was a joke, Mitch.”

  “You’re a joke!” he screamed. “You’re a stupid joke!”

  “Tell you what — tomorrow night I’ll tell you a funny story. Not a scary story. How does that sound?”

  “I don’t like funny stories,” he growled.

  I guessed he wanted to stay angry.

  So I said good night, and Brad followed me out of Mitch’s room and downstairs to the den. We passed Mom and Dad in the living room. They were hunched in front of the TV, playing a Wii tennis game, swinging their arms and diving for the invisible ball.

  My parents love video games.

  Weird, right?

  Brad dropped onto an edge of the couch and picked up the empty popcorn bowl. “You didn’t save me any?”

  “You know Devin. He gobbled it all up. He spilled a lot on the floor. You can eat those.”

  “Hey, thanks.”

  My phone dinged. I picked it up and glanced at the screen. A text message from Polly:

  WANT TO TALK ABOUT MY PARTY?

  I turned the phone upside down on the coffee table. “What are we going to do about Polly’s party?” I asked Brad. “Should we go and just die of boredom?”

  He found some popcorn between the couch cushions and popped the kernels into his mouth. “We need to liven it up,” he said.

  “Duh. We need to do something crazy. Something random. You know. Maybe do something to scare everyone.”

  He grinned. “We’re good at that. Your brother will never speak to me again.”

  “Forget him,” I said, thinking hard. “We need to do something really frightening at Polly’s party and make everyone scream.”

  We both thought in silence for a while. Brad kept turning the rubber old-man mask between his hands. Finally, he raised his head. His eyes flashed.

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea. What about this …?”

  Brad raised the ugly old-man mask. “What about this? Creepy, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Creepy enough to make Mitch scream.”

  “Well … what if we put on ugly masks like this one. Only we wear them backwards.” He pulled the mask over his head and spun it around so that the face part was on the back of his head. “Then we put our clothes on backwards and we walk backwards into Polly’s house and we —”

  “Is that the dumbest idea you ever had?” I said. “Let’s vote. I vote yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if the mask is on backwards, you can’t see a thing. You’re totally blind.”

  He nodded. “Oh, yeah. You’re right about that.”

  “Also, it’s not scary at all,” I said. “It just looks stupid.”

  Brad kept nodding. “You’re right again.”

  “Let’s think some more,” I said.

  Brad didn’t answer. He was struggling with the mask. It was still facing backward. He tugged hard with both hands and swung it around. Then he gripped it at the top of its bald, bumpy head and pulled.

  “What’s your problem?” I asked.

  He let out a groan. “It … won’t … budge.”

  “Huh? Just pull harder.”

  He struggled and strained. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could tell he was frightened. “Brad?”

  “It’s stuck,” he choked out. “Help me. It’s … stuck to my skin. It’s closing in on me. Lu-Ann — help! The mask … It’s strangling me!”

  My heart skipped a beat. Brad sounded terrified. Like a guy in a horror movie.

  He jumped to his feet, tugging and grasping and pulling at the mask with both hands.

  “Help! Ohh … help!”

  With a cry, I jumped up beside him and grabbed the top of the mask. I tugged with all my strength …

  … and the mask slid off Brad’s face easily.

  I stood there, gaping at it, holding the crumpled mask in both hands high above my head.

  Brad burst out laughing. He laughed till his face turned red. “Your family sure scares easily,” he said. “You’re a scaredy-cat like your brother.”

  “Shut up,” I said. I swung the mask and slapped his face with it.

  That made him laugh even harder. “Maybe I’ll try that joke at Polly’s party.”

  “You didn’t scare me at all,” I said. Total lie.

  “That was just dumb. Who would believe it?” I said. “Go home, Brad. I’ll come up with something fun for the party.”

  He folded the mask in his hand. “We can scare Polly. I know we can,” he said.

  “I’ll keep thinking.” I walked him to the front door. I grabbed the handle and slid the door open.

  And we both opened our mouths in screams of horror.

  I gaped at the enormous, ugly gorilla in the doorway. It had to be eight feet tall! Shaggy brown fur. Eyes glowing red, and its big belly heaving up and down noisily.

  It opened its mouth in a ferocious roar. And I ducked away as its massive arms shot out to grab me.

  It took only two or three seconds to realize it was someone in a gorilla costume. But those two or three seconds were pretty frightening.

  Laughing, Brad grabbed the gorilla’s head — and lifted it off its body. And there stood our friend Marcus Wright, sweat pouring down his face. “Hey, it’s a hundred degrees in this thing. Did I scare you?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “In this phony costume?”

  “The costume is aw
esome,” Brad said, running his fingers through the arm fur. “Is that real fur?”

  “I think it was made from a real gorilla,” Marcus said.

  “You’re joking,” I said.

  He nodded. “Yes. I’m joking.” He wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of a gorilla paw.

  “Did you really walk all the way over here in that?” Brad asked him.

  Marcus lumbered into the house. He tossed the gorilla head onto the den couch. “A few cars honked at me. But no one paid much attention.”

  “Who’s here?” Mom called. She stepped into the den and squinted at Marcus. “Marcus, think you should see the doctor? It isn’t normal for a twelve-year-old to grow that much hair.”

  Everyone in my family is a joker. Except Mitch, of course.

  Mom and Marcus teased each other about the costume for a few minutes. I went to the kitchen and got Marcus a cold drink. He looked like he was dying in there.

  When he isn’t a gorilla, Marcus is a tall, thin African American dude with movie-star good looks (except for his ears, which are too big and flappy), a soft voice, and a high-pitched giggle that always makes me laugh.

  Devin, Brad, Marcus, and I hang out together all the time, I guess because we’re the only kids we know who don’t take things too seriously and who like to laugh all the time, even if we’re being total jerks.

  Mom went back to Dad and the Wii game in the living room. Marcus plopped down in the middle of the couch. “Why don’t you take off the costume?” I said.

  He grinned. “Because I’m totally naked in here.”

  “Joking?”

  He nodded. “Joking. You guys have your costumes for Polly’s party? You should go to my dad’s store. He has some awesome masks and costumes. Like this one.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Your dad opened a costume store?”

  Marcus nodded. “You know. One of those popup stores. Over on Second Street, by the market. Just till after Halloween.”

  “Your dad was always into that stuff, right?” Brad asked. He picked up the gorilla mask and rubbed his hand over the snout. “Ouch! It bit me!”

  “My dad says there used to be a famous mask store here in Dayton called William’s Mask Emporium. Maybe the best mask store in the world. His dad used to take him there when he was little. And he’s loved masks ever since.”

  Marcus picked up some popcorn from the floor and tossed it into his mouth. “My dad studies old masks. You know. From primitive people way, way back and from Africa and the Far East and from China. He’s a mask freak. And now he’s, like, totally pumped, selling them in his shop.”

  I picked a ball of fur off the couch arm. “Hey, Marcus, you’re shedding.”

  “Does your dad have anything really scary?” Brad asked. “I mean really scary? Something to shake up Polly’s party?”

  Marcus shook his head. “Do you believe it? Another boring Halloween party, singing party songs while Polly’s mother plays the accordion?”

  All three of us sighed.

  “I just got a great idea,” Marcus said. “You and Brad go into the party first, see. You ask Polly if she heard that a big, dangerous gorilla escaped from the zoo. Then I sneak in through an upstairs window, see. And I come charging down the stairs howling and swinging my arms —”

  “Lame,” I interrupted.

  “Awesomely lame,” Brad agreed.

  “My dad has these fake human arms and legs in his shop,” Marcus said. “Totally real looking. What if I come running down the stairs with a human arm between my teeth?”

  “Even lamer,” I said. “Kids will just laugh.”

  Brad tossed the gorilla head to Marcus. “Let’s keep thinking. There has to be a way to shake up the party.”

  We all agreed. There had to be a way.

  And guess what? As it turned out, the party was a lot scarier than any of us imagined.

  On Halloween night, I went to Polly’s party as a vampire. I knew there would be a lot of other vampires, but I didn’t care.

  I painted my face white, put black circles around my eyes, smeared on black lipstick, and painted a trickle of bright red blood down one side of my mouth onto my chin. I wore a black long-sleeved top and a long, flowing black skirt of my mom’s.

  Polly’s house is two blocks from mine, so I walked. It was a cold October night. Clouds covered the moon. Trees whispered and shivered in a gusting wind that swirled my skirt around me as I made my way along the sidewalk.

  I saw groups of kids trick-or-treating. They were running excitedly up to houses, laughing and collecting candy and showing off their costumes. They were having fun.

  I sighed. I knew my night wouldn’t be as fun as theirs.

  Polly had two fat, glowing jack-o’-lanterns on her front stoop. One had a fiery yellow grin on its carved face, the other a menacing frown. All the lights in the house were on. I could hear music pouring out, but I didn’t recognize it.

  I stepped into the living room. It was already jammed with kids in costumes. I quickly spotted two more vampires. They both had fangs. I’d totally forgotten about fangs.

  How could I?

  I saw green-faced monsters and a Frankenstein with bolts in his head. I pushed my way past weird purple and blue creatures. One of them had two heads. Three boys wore animal heads. Were they cows? I couldn’t tell.

  The living room was so full it was hard to walk anywhere. I kept bumping into people as I searched for Polly. Polly was always a princess in a white bride’s dress and the same sparkly silver tiara every year.

  But I couldn’t find her.

  I searched for Marcus in his gorilla costume and Brad in his ugly old-man gear. No sign of them.

  “Hey — sorry.” A curly-horned beast bumped into me hard, nearly knocking me over.

  How come I didn’t recognize anyone?

  The music was strange. Not really party music. Kind of slow and sad with lots of violins.

  That’s not the kind of music Polly usually plays. She plays bouncy, babyish music.

  “Have you seen Polly?” I asked a ghost in a long bedsheet.

  The ghost stared back at me through two ragged eyeholes.

  “Where is Polly’s mom?” I asked.

  The ghost just stared and didn’t reply.

  “Hey, everyone, we’re going to play Eat the Wheel,” a voice from the front of the room shouted. I couldn’t see her, but I knew it wasn’t Polly’s voice.

  “Eat the Wheel,” someone repeated. “Cool. Eat the Wheel. Eat the Wheel.”

  What kind of stupid game was that? How come I’d never heard of it?

  Polly? Where are you?

  And where are my friends?

  An eight-foot-tall gorilla shouldn’t be too hard to spot in a crowd.

  Polly’s mom always stood at the front door to greet everyone and collect the five dollars. I turned back to the door. Some kids in yellow-green insect costumes were entering. But no sign of Mrs. Martin.

  And no sign of her accordion, which she always leaned at the side of the fireplace.

  Where was she?

  “Eat the Wheel?” a boy beside me said. “Where do we get our tri-wiggles? Who has the tri-wiggles?”

  I suddenly felt dizzy. I didn’t understand what he was saying. And I’d never heard of that game. Had Polly found some kind of new game for everyone to play? That wasn’t at all like her.

  “Have you seen Polly?” I asked another girl vampire.

  She opened her mouth and made her fangs poke out.

  “Polly?” I repeated. “I can’t find Polly.”

  The other vampire said something in a voice too soft to hear.

  Two boys in pirate costumes started to argue. As they raised their voices, I realized I didn’t understand their language. I take Spanish in school, but it wasn’t Spanish. It was a weird language with a lot of clicking and whistling.

  A group of kids suddenly started to sing. They were also singing in a language I’d never heard.

  Kids laughed as if i
t was the funniest song ever.

  I shut my eyes. I tried to cover my ears with my hands. I suddenly didn’t feel well at all.

  This was totally upsetting. No Polly. No friends. No one I recognized. All talking about some weird game and talking and singing in a strange, funny-sounding language.

  Am I at the wrong party?

  I knew that was impossible. I knew Polly’s house almost as well as my own.

  So what was happening?

  The room suddenly grew silent. The singing and talking stopped. The music stopped.

  I opened my eyes in time to see the kids move into a circle. Without saying a word, they formed a wide circle around me.

  They were all staring at me through their masks, glaring menacingly. I didn’t have a chance to move. They tightened the circle around me.

  And started to circle me, moving slowly at first, then faster. The circle of weird, costumed kids — all strangers — whirled around me. And as I gaped, frozen in horror, they began to chant:

  “Pippa pippa wah wah wah

  Pippa wah pippa wah

  Pippa pippa wah wah.”

  What did it mean? Why were they chanting at me? Staring at me so angrily?

  I spun around, searching for an escape. But the circle of chanting, moving kids was too tight. I couldn’t get away.

  “Pippa pippa wah wah wah

  Pippa wah pippa wah

  Pippa pippa wah wah.”

  “No — please!” I shouted in a high, trembling voice. “Please — what do you want? Why are you doing this?”

  The circle slowed down. The chanting stopped. I stared in horror, my hands over my ears.

  And then I uttered a hoarse cry as they all grabbed the sides of their heads.

  They grabbed their heads — and lifted them off their bodies!

  “Oh, nooo,” I moaned. “Nooooo.”

  They pulled their heads off their shoulders. Held them high.

  I stared at the empty shoulders. At the roomful of headless kids.

  Stared in shock at the costumed kids, all holding their heads high above their bodies.

  And then suddenly, the heads all began to scream.

  “No! Stop! Stop!” I pleaded. But I couldn’t hear myself over their shrill, terrifying siren screams.