Stinetinglers--All New Stories by the Master of Scary Tales Page 4

  “You got that right,” I said.

  Norman Washburn appeared behind the counter with a tray of glasses in his hands. My parents stay home on weekends and leave the lunch counter to Norman. He’s pretty old, with wavy white hair that he never brushes and cheeks that are always red.

  “Hey, dudes, what’ll you have?” Norman always tries to talk like he’s a young person. “Cherry colas?”

  He knows that’s what Jackson and I always get. He set the tray of glasses down, leaned close, and squinted at me. “Hey, Freddy, better show me your money first.”

  It’s the same joke every time. He knows I don’t have to pay. “Charge it,” I said. It wasn’t that funny, but he laughed.

  I turned back to my friends. In a flash, I saw my missed layup again and heard the disappointed groans of the people in the bleachers. Am I going to see that missed shot forever?

  Jackson knew what I was thinking. “We still have the game with the Hornets next week,” he said.

  Melody sipped her drink. “Let’s not talk about it. Let’s talk about our overnight in Jefferson Woods. That was so nice of your parents to invite Jackson and me.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t want to go. I think the woods are boring, and I don’t like sleeping outside at night.” I shuddered. “Too many bugs.”

  “It’ll be an adventure,” Jackson said.

  “Take your mind off what a loser you are,” Melody said.

  She and Jackson laughed. He likes her cruel sense of humor.

  “They’re doing it for Willy,” I said. Willy is my little brother. “He’s seriously weird,” I said. “When it’s warm, he sleeps in the backyard in a tent.”

  “Your brother is cool,” Melody said. “I think—”

  She didn’t finish because Norman appeared with our cherry colas in tall glasses. “Watch out for the bubbles,” he said. He always says that. He set the two glasses in front of me and hurried to a man waving at him at the other end of the counter.

  “Here you go.” I picked up Jackson’s drink and reached past Melody to hand it to him. But—whoa! Oh no! The glass slipped from my hand—and fell into Melody’s lap.

  She screamed. We both made grabs for it. But the dark cola splashed all over her skirt and Rattlers jersey, and the glass hit the floor and shattered into pieces.

  Melody grabbed a paper napkin and swiped frantically at her skirt as the cola soaked over the front. “I don’t believe you!” she screamed at me. “Did you do that on purpose? Because I made fun of you?”

  “No! No way!” I cried. I saw Norman bringing a towel to help mop up the spill. “My hand slipped. I—”

  I gazed at my hand. Oh, wow. The skin on my fingers was loose. The skin dangled like a glove falling off.

  With a gasp, I frantically pulled the skin back onto my fingers. Did Melody and Jackson see it? No. She was on her feet now, her shoes crinkling over the broken glass, swiping the towel at the front of her skirt.

  Jackson had jumped to his feet, too. He stared at me as if he was trying to figure out what was going on with me.

  I shrugged. “Guess I’m just a total klutz today,” I said. I was trying to keep it light, but my skin had me really worried.

  * * *

  At dinner, my family talked about our overnight. Willy kept asking if he could have his own tent. Dad laughed. “Why don’t you want to sleep with Freddy?”

  “I just want my own tent,” the little guy answered.

  “Then I’ll have to sleep out in the open,” I said, “and maybe a bear will come and eat me.”

  “That’s why I want to be in a tent!” Willy said.

  Mom and Dad laughed. They think Willy is a riot, and I guess he is.

  I wasn’t in a laughing mood. I was still thinking about the basketball game I lost for my team. “If only my hand hadn’t slipped,” I told my parents. “We would have won.”

  “Listen to me, Freddy,” Dad said. He has a big, booming voice, and you have to listen to him when he speaks. “It takes five players to lose a game, not just one.”

  I guess he was saying I shouldn’t blame myself. But, of course, I did.

  “Can we go tubing on the Jefferson River?” Willy asked.

  “It’s too cold,” Mom said.

  “Not for me!” Willy exclaimed.

  Dad put a hand over Willy’s mouth. “I’m talking to Freddy,” he said. He turned back to me. “Forget about the game today. You have to keep plugging, and don’t look back.”

  “I know,” I said. “But—”

  “You can do it, Freddy,” Dad boomed. “Remember what I always say—you can be whoever you want to be.”

  “Why does Freddy get to bring his friends?” Willy said. “Why can’t I?”

  “You don’t have any friends,” I said.

  Mom scowled at me. “Don’t pick on your brother, Freddy.”

  She always takes his side.

  Later, I decided to take a hot shower before bed. As I walked to the bathroom, I stopped in front of the one weird thing in my house. Believe me, my parents are totally normal people. They are hardworking and serious, and they are really good parents.

  But there’s one thing in our house that anyone would think is seriously strange. We call it the Forbidden Closet. It’s the closet next to the upstairs bathroom. The door is locked with a padlock, and no one is allowed to open it.

  No matter how many times I’ve asked about it, I can’t get an answer from either Mom or Dad about why it’s forbidden and what is inside it. They always make a zipping motion in front of their mouths and say, “My lips are sealed.”

  So, it’s just a part of our house, a forbidden closet. Willy and I pass it several times a day, and we don’t even think about it anymore.

  I took a long, hot shower. I thought it might help me calm down. Afterward, I grabbed a bath towel from the racks on the wall and started to dry myself.

  “Whoa!” I uttered a cry as the towel slipped from my hands.

  I made a grab for the towel, but I saw something was wrong. The skin on both hands was loose, dangling off my fingers. It was as if my skin didn’t fit me anymore.

  I don’t know how long I just stood there, dripping wet, my hands raised in front of me, staring at the flopping, loose skin.

  “This is sick!” I cried out loud.

  I worked frantically to pull the skin back onto my fingers. It wasn’t easy since both hands were messed up. Then I dried myself quickly, tugged on my pajamas, and hurried downstairs.

  After dinner, Mom had gone to her sister’s house. But Dad was in the den, reading a magazine called Restaurant Life. I burst up in front of him and lowered the magazine to his lap.

  “Dad, there’s something wrong with me!” I cried. “My—my skin is coming loose! My hands—the skin is sliding off my hands. Something is terribly wrong!”

  To my surprise, he didn’t react at all. He leaned forward in his armchair, reached up to his ears, and pulled out the wireless earbuds. He squinted at me. “Sorry, Freddy. Did you say something? I had Led Zeppelin in my ears. That old stuff helps clear my head.”

  “I, uh…” I tugged at my fingers to show him the problem. But the skin stayed in place. I tugged hard, but the skin didn’t come loose.

  “Something wrong with your hand?” Dad said. “You have another hangnail?”

  “N-no,” I stammered. “I guess I’m okay. I just came down to say good night.”

  * * *

  Saturday morning before the basketball game, I was down on the living room floor, playing a game with Willy. Playing games with Willy isn’t exactly fun because he cheats. And if he loses, he goes berserk and messes up the board and starts heaving game pieces all over the room.

  We were playing Connect Four. He had three of his red checkers in a row and jumped up and down, saying he had won.

  I pulled him back down. “You need four in a row,” I said. “The game is called Connect Four.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Willy insisted. He gave me a hard shove.
“It’s called Connect THREE.”

  I stabbed my finger against the front of the game box. “See this number? It’s a four. You need four in a row, not three. Don’t be a cheater.”

  “You’re the cheater!” he cried. He shoved the game onto its side and tossed some checkers against the wall.

  I stood the game back up. “Let’s start again,” I said quietly. “Do you want to play Connect Three? Okay. We can play Connect Three.”

  Willy squinted at me for a long moment. Then he burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” I said.

  “Your face,” he answered.

  I let out an exasperated breath. “Are we going to play or not?”

  He pointed. “How do you do that, Freddy?”

  “Do what?”

  “How do you do that with your face? It’s totally weird!”

  “Huh?” I jumped up and went running to the bathroom. I stepped up to the sink and leaned close to the mirror. What is Willy laughing about?

  I gasped when I saw the reflection of my ears. The skin on both my ears dangled down the sides of my face. It looked like my ears were hanging down to my shoulders!

  “How do you do that?” I heard Willy coming down the hall.

  I wrapped my fingers around my ear skin and pushed it back into place. Then I spun around as Willy burst into the bathroom. “Do what?” I said.

  * * *

  The basketball game was a disaster.

  I kept slipping as I ran down the floor. I had to stop and see if my sneakers had come unlaced. My legs felt wobbly, as if my bones had turned soft or something. I went up for a long three-pointer and fell flat on my face. I landed hard on my elbows, and pain shot up and down my whole body.

  Whistles blew. Coach Franklin shouted for a time-out and waved me over. He frowned at me as I stumbled over to him. “What’s up, Freddy?”

  “I—I’m okay,” I stammered. “I—I think it’s my shoes.”

  He put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a gentle push toward the sideline. “Take some bench time and check it out.”

  My heart started to pound as I dropped onto the bench. I had a bad feeling the problem wasn’t my sneakers. I held my breath and hoped I was wrong.

  Both sneakers were tightly laced. My hands trembled as I pulled off the left sneaker. “Oh, wow,” I murmured to myself. I slid off the other sneaker and gazed in horror at my feet.

  I heard the crowd cheering and shouting, but their voices seemed miles away.

  The skin had drooped off both my feet. The toes dangled limply. The skin was at least two inches off the bone.

  I forced myself to breathe. My eyes blurred as I stared at the loose skin.

  What is happening?

  I saw Coach Franklin approaching. No time to tug the skin back into place. Frantically, I tried to stuff my feet back into the sneakers. I jammed them in and struggled to lace them back up with my shaking hands.

  “Everything check out?” Coach Franklin asked.

  I nodded. “I guess.”

  He blew his whistle. “Get back in, Freddy. Let’s beat these guys.”

  I jumped up, started to run onto the floor—and fell again. My feet just didn’t fit in the shoes. Whistles blew again. The crowd grew silent. Coach Franklin squatted down beside me. “Do you need help?”

  “N-no,” I stammered. I pulled myself to a sitting position. “Just not feeling well. Sorry, Coach. I’d better not play today.”

  * * *

  Stumbling and staggering, I made my way home, eager to tell my parents about my loose skin. I found them in the driveway, packing the van for the overnight.

  Dad shoved a tent into the back and turned to me, a look of surprise on his face. “Freddy? You’re home early?”

  “I need to talk—” I started.

  But then Melody and Jackson stepped out from behind the van. I stopped midsentence. I didn’t want them to know what was happening to me.

  “Who won the game?” Jackson asked.

  “Later,” I said. “I … uh … I have to pack some things.” I hurried into the house. I needed to talk to Mom and Dad, but not in front of my friends.

  My shoes wobbled on my feet as I started up the stairs to my room. I spun around when I heard footsteps behind me and saw Jackson following. “Freddy, what’s up with you?” he demanded. “Is something wrong?”

  “I … don’t want to talk about it,” I said. I hurried the rest of the way up. “I just want to get my backpack and—”

  “Hey, what’s this?” he asked. “Why is there a padlock on this door?”

  I groaned. “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  “No. Seriously,” Jackson said. He tugged at the padlock. “What’s in here?”

  “Didn’t I ever tell you about it?” I said. “It’s the Forbidden Closet.”

  He squinted at me. “You’re joking.”

  I shook my head. “No one is allowed to open it,” I told him. “It’s forbidden.”

  Jackson laughed. “This is definitely weird. Aren’t you curious about it? Have you ever tried to look inside?”

  “No. Come on, Jackson. We’re in a hurry.”

  He pulled something from his jeans pocket. I think it was a nail clipper. “I learned how to pick locks from a YouTube video,” he said. “Let’s take a look here.” He went to work on the lock.

  I grabbed his arm. But he pulled it free and kept picking at the padlock. “We’ve got to find out what is so forbidden,” he said. “Hey—I think I’ve got it!”

  “What are you guys doing?” a voice called. Dad appeared at the top of the stairs. “Get a move on, Freddy. Get your stuff. I don’t want to drive after dark.”

  * * *

  We arrived at Jefferson Woods at twilight. It was a cool night. The air smelled fresh and piney. A pale half-moon was hanging just over the trees. A steady breeze made the leaves whisper above our heads.

  Dad and Jackson started to set up the tents. “Do mine first!” Willy cried. “Me first!” He pointed to a row of low shrubs. “Over there. I want it over there.”

  “At least you’re not bossy,” I said.

  “Don’t pick on Willy,” Mom said. “Let’s have a fun night, Freddy.”

  “You and Melody go gather firewood before it gets totally dark,” Dad said. “We need to build a big fire.”

  Melody turned and began walking into the trees beyond the clearing. I started after her, but I stumbled over a fallen tree limb and fell to the ground.

  I heard Willy laughing behind me. I didn’t think it was funny. My feet still didn’t feel right in my shoes.

  Melody helped me up. “Let’s collect kindling first,” she said. “There are sticks all over the ground. Then we can come back for bigger pieces of wood.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said. We wandered off in different directions. I nearly walked into a hedge of thick nettles. Catching my balance just in time, I leaned against a fat tree trunk.

  The bark felt rough against my back. I saw a bunch of thin twigs at my feet. I bent and tried to gather them up. “Whoa!” The twigs slipped right through my fingers.

  I swiped at them again. Missed. A wave of dizziness made me lean back against the tree. The woods seemed to grow silent. I blinked as the gray evening light faded in front of me.

  “Ow.” I swiped at a mosquito on my neck. And felt the loose skin under my chin. “Oh no.” A frightened moan escaped my throat.

  I grabbed the sides of my face. The skin on my cheeks was flapping loose.

  This can’t be happening.

  This is impossible!

  My fingers dangled off my hands. I tried to press them against the front of my sweatshirt. But my whole chest was moving!

  I raised my hands to my head and pulled. My skin slid up over my face. My skin … my skin … my skin … it was sliding off!

  All of it. All of my skin. It came off in one long piece. Like a Halloween costume. Came off in my hands.

  Gasping for breath, my chest heaving up and
down, horrified groans escaped my throat. Animal grunts. And there I was, leaning against the rough tree bark, my skin draped over my arm like a long towel.

  I reached up with my free hand. Reached up to my face.

  Do I have a face?

  Yes. I felt my cheeks, my forehead. I had a face under my old face!

  “No … no … no…” Was that me groaning and repeating that word?

  I gripped my skin tightly against me. A shrill scream of horror made me almost drop it.

  Melody stood open-mouthed, gaping at me. She screamed again and took a step back, her eyes wide with fright.

  “Who are you?” she cried. “What are you doing here in the woods?”

  “It’s … me…” I tried to answer. But the words came out in a choked whisper.

  “What have you done to Freddy?” Melody cried, hands pressed to her cheeks. “Why are you wearing Freddy’s clothes? Where is he? Who are you?”

  “It’s me…” I croaked.

  “No! Where is Freddy?” Melody cried. “Where is he?” And then she opened her mouth in another horrified scream, so loud it made the trees shake.

  I shut my eyes and covered my ears against her screams. Who am I now? I wondered. If I’m not Freddy, who am I now?

  * * *

  “I thought this might happen,” Dad said. He took my skin, rolled it up, and shoved it into the back of the van. “Get in, everyone. We have to go home.”

  We drove home in silence. I sat up front with Dad and stared out into the darkness. Melody and Jackson sat with Mom. I could feel them staring at me—the stranger in the car!

  Willy started to whine about how he didn’t want to leave the woods. Dad hushed him up instantly.

  At home, Dad unpacked my skin and carried it upstairs. I followed him, my heart pounding, my brain whirring in confusion. He stopped outside the Forbidden Closet.

  “You’re thirteen, Freddy,” Dad said. “I figured it was time.” He spun the wheel on the padlock and tugged it open.

  Then he motioned for me to stand back as he swung open the closet door. He clicked on a ceiling light, and I peered inside. And stared at the rows of objects draped over hangers.