Trick or Trap Page 5

  “You did not,” I lied.

  Amanda gazed down at the mask. She didn’t say a word.

  I realized my fists were squeezed into tight balls. I wanted to pound Rita. But mainly, I wanted to pound myself for always falling for her tricks.

  Rita reached down to grab the mask from the floor. But I grabbed it first and held it out of her reach.

  “Let me see it,” she insisted.

  “Go away,” I said. “You know you need my permission to come into my room.”

  She stuck her tongue out at me and made a loud spitting noise. “That’s my permission.”

  “You’re not funny,” I said. “You’re pathetic.”

  “You’re pathetic,” Rita shot back. “Is that mask supposed to be you … with a big wart growing out of your head?”

  “Ha-ha. Remind me to laugh. You’re so funny,” I said. “And it’s not a wart. It’s another carved head.”

  “Where did you get it?” Rita demanded.

  I exchanged glances with Amanda. “We’re not telling,” Amanda told Rita.

  “You mean you stole it?” Rita said. “I’m telling Mom.”

  I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Give me a break.”

  “Is that your Halloween mask?” Rita demanded.

  “It’s not the kind of mask you wear,” I told her. “It’s the kind you hang on a wall.”

  She sneered at me, hands pressed against her waist. “Scotty, wouldn’t you be scared to hang that on your wall? Scared it will give you the evil eye?”

  My little sister was right. No way I wanted this ugly thing on my wall, staring at me night and day. But could I admit that? No.

  “I’m going to hang it on that wall,” I said, pointing. “That way, it will look out the open door into your room across the hall. We’ll see if you like it.”

  “Like I care?” she said sarcastically. She shoved the death mask toward my face. “Try it on. Go ahead.”

  “I told you, it’s not that kind of mask,” I said.

  “You’re afraid? Try it on. Try it on, Scott.” She pushed it to my face again.

  “I don’t want to,” I said. “I …”

  Amanda motioned to me. “Oh, go ahead. Give Rita a thrill.”

  “Huh?” I gripped the edges of the mask in both hands. The ugly little head grinned up at me from the forehead. My hands started to sweat on the mask.

  “Try it on. Try it on,” Rita chanted.

  And once again, I felt a hard tug. I felt the pull of the mask.

  Once again, it was as if my hands were no longer part of me.

  They raised the mask, turned it face-out, and pressed it over my face.

  The mask felt rough, scratchy, and warm against my cheeks. At first, I couldn’t breathe. I started to panic.

  But then it slid into place. I gazed out through the narrow eye slits. Beyond the mask, my room seemed to ripple, as if everything were underwater. It took a long time to focus. It was as if I were seeing everything from a distance.

  Amanda and Rita finally came into view. “How does it feel?” Rita demanded.

  I tried to answer her, but my voice was muffled behind the mask. I wanted to tell her that it was very warm in here and I felt far away. But for some reason, I couldn’t get the words out.

  And then the two girls seemed to fade away. They vanished … into a curtain of gray fog.

  Oh, wow. Where did they go?

  I blinked hard, trying to bring them back. And then I realized I could hear the echo of voices. Distant voices in a buzz of static. I couldn’t make out the words.

  And then Mom’s voice broke through the strange sounds. She was shouting from downstairs. “Dinnertime. Come on down.”

  Amanda reappeared in front of me. “Dinnertime?” she said. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I promised my mom I’d be home early to walk Curly.” She gave me a wave and disappeared back into the gray mist.

  “Amanda?” I finally found my voice. “Don’t you want to stay for dinner?”

  But she was gone.

  I lowered the mask and followed Rita down the stairs and into the kitchen. We took our places across from each other at the table. The table was set for three since Dad was still away on his business trip.

  Mom turned from the stove, a big yellow platter in her hands. “What’s up?” she asked. “What were you two doing up there?”

  “Checking out Scott’s mask,” Rita said.

  I realized I still had the mask gripped tightly in my hand. I didn’t want Mom to see it. I knew she’d ask where I got it. And I didn’t want to tell her I’d grabbed it from the old, abandoned house.

  Just think of how many questions my mom would ask if she found out Amanda and I had broken into that place.

  I tried to hide the mask under the table, but I was too late. Mom already had her eyes on it.

  She set the big platter down on the end of the table. “Scott, I made your favorite tonight. Stewed beef tongue.”

  “Huh?” I stared at the big pink tongue standing upright on the platter, and I almost gagged. “Mom — that’s not my favorite,” I said. “Why did you say it’s my favorite?”

  A huge, bumpy cow tongue? I could picture it in a cow’s mouth. Why did Mom say that was my favorite? She’d never made it before. We never had a big pink tongue on the dinner table. Never.

  Mom eyed me sternly. “Scott, you know you love cow tongue. You told me it’s your favorite. And look what else we’re having.”

  She carried a soup tureen to the table and began ladling out bowls of soup. “Oyster soup,” she said.

  I could see the big gloppy oysters in the soup broth. “Mom — the oysters … they’re raw,” I stammered.

  “Of course they’re raw,” she said. “That’s the way you eat oysters.” She passed a soup bowl to Rita, who didn’t say a word.

  “But … they’re like big slugs,” I said. “Like eating slugs. Raw. It’s totally gross.”

  “Scott, I made this dinner just for you,” Mom said, frowning. “Try one. Just put it on your tongue and let it go down easy.”

  “Put a raw slug on my tongue?” Why was Mom acting so weird?

  “Show Mom your mask,” Rita said. I could see Rita was determined to get me in trouble.

  I didn’t have a choice. I held up the wooden death mask.

  “That’s interesting,” Mom said. She stood at the end of the table with her electric knife, cutting the cow tongue into narrow slices.

  “He stole it,” Rita said. “He stole the mask and he won’t tell where he got it.”

  Mom lowered the knife and squinted at me. “Scott? Is that true? Did you really steal that mask?”

  “I-I-I,” I stammered, trying to think of a good answer.

  The phone rang. Saved by the bell.

  Mom hurried across the kitchen to the wall phone. It was Dad, calling from his business trip.

  “Where is Dad?” I asked.

  “He flew to Neptune,” Mom said.

  Was that supposed to be a joke?

  She turned her back on us and started to talk to him.

  I reached across the table and grabbed Rita’s arm. “You like being a snitch?” I said in a harsh whisper. I didn’t want Mom to hear. “You think that’s funny? Getting me in trouble?”

  “Let go of my arm, Scott,” she said.

  “You know, it’s almost Halloween,” I said. “And who is going to take you trick-or-treating if I refuse? You’d better be nice to me, Rita. Or I’ll ruin your Halloween.”

  I let go of her arm. She grabbed her spoon, dunked it in her bowl, and shot a big splash of oyster soup across the table onto my sweatshirt. Then she splashed another spoonful onto my face. A slimy oyster landed on my cheek and slid down to my shirt.

  She started to laugh, and I totally lost it.

  “I … I wish you’d never been born!” I shouted.

  I saw a puff of purple smoke in front of my eyes. And when the smoke cleared, Rita was gone.

  “Huh?”

&
nbsp; I gasped in horror, gaping at Rita’s empty chair.

  Oh, no. I did it. I wished her gone — and she’s gone. This can’t be true!

  I didn’t mean it. Really! I didn’t mean it!

  The kitchen seemed to fade into a curtain of purple fog. Mom’s voice faded, too. I sank into the mist, sank into a swirling darkness, as if I was falling into a bottomless smoky pit.

  Silence.

  Then I felt a tug. “Take off the mask, Scott.” Rita’s voice.

  I opened my eyes. Rita tugged the death mask off my face with both hands. She squinted at me. “Are you okay? I’ve been calling and calling you.”

  “You … you’re here?” I stammered.

  “Where else would I be?” Rita snapped.

  Amanda was still in my room, too. She hadn’t left for home. “You put that mask over your face, and then it was like you couldn’t see or hear us,” Amanda said, standing beside my bed.

  I squeezed Rita’s arm. “You’re real?”

  “Stop acting like a jerk,” she said. “Mom called us down to dinner, and Amanda has to leave.”

  I couldn’t shake away Rita’s disappearance. What was real and what wasn’t real?

  “Rita, didn’t we already go down to dinner? Didn’t you splash oyster soup in my face?”

  She laughed. “What a good idea.”

  Amanda was studying me. I could see the fear in her eyes.

  It all began to come clear to me. The dinner table thing didn’t happen. When I pressed the mask to my face, I had a fantasy, like a dream.

  The mask totally messed with my mind. It was like I entered a different world. Or maybe an alternate world, the kind you see in sci-fi movies.

  Would I have been trapped in that world if Rita hadn’t pulled the mask off?

  I didn’t want to find out.

  “Give that back to me, Rita.” I grabbed the mask from her hand. “This thing is dangerous.”

  Rita laughed. Amanda didn’t.

  “I’m hiding this away somewhere,” I said, searching my room frantically. “Until I can get rid of it. I definitely want it out of sight.”

  Rita shook her head. “You’re afraid of a dumb mask?”

  “I know what I’m doing,” I said. “And you keep away from it, hear me?”

  She raised both hands. “No problem. Keep your stupid mask.”

  “What about the sleeping bag in back of your closet? It would be safe back there,” Amanda said. I think she understood how I felt.

  “Yes! Perfect!” I said.

  “I’m out of here,” Rita said, heading to the hall. “I’m going down to dinner. Hamburgers tonight, and I’m starving.”

  She went downstairs. Amanda made her way to the door. She stopped and turned back to me. “You okay?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Just got a little freaked by the mask.”

  “I’m going to put the pictures of us hanging out in the abandoned house on my Instagram tonight,” Amanda said. “When Mickey and Morty see it, they’ll totally freak.” She pumped a fist in the air. “Respect!”

  “Respect,” I repeated.

  When she was gone, I carefully wrapped the mask in the heavy red scarf. Then I ducked into my closet and pressed my way past my clothes, all the way to the back. I dropped onto my hands and knees, pulled up the top of the sleeping bag, and stuffed the scarf and mask as far down as I could reach.

  Then I backed out of my closet and carefully closed the door. I felt better already, knowing the mask was out of sight.

  In his glass cage, Hammy was running happily on his squeaking wheel. “You go, dude!” I shouted. And I hurried down to dinner.

  I felt as if I’d turned a corner. As if I’d taken a big step toward being a braver person, brave enough to get revenge on the Klass Brothers and everyone who tortured Amanda and me.

  Yes, I’d turned a corner.

  Of course, I had no idea how much horror waited just around the next corner.

  “I have exciting news,” Mom said at dinner.

  We were eating hamburgers, and the fried potatoes Mom makes that are cut as thin as potato chips but are even saltier. Rita tried to squirt ketchup across the table at me when Mom’s back was turned. Otherwise, all was peaceful.

  “Are we getting a dog?” Rita said. She had a dribble of hamburger juice on her chin.

  “No. That’s not my news,” Mom said, motioning for Rita to wipe her chin. “You know your father is allergic to dog fur.”

  “Why can’t we get one without fur?” Rita demanded.

  “We’ve had this conversation a hundred times,” Mom said, passing the potato dish to me. “How many more times do we have to have it?”

  “A hundred,” Rita said.

  Mom made a disgusted face at her. “Don’t you want to hear my news? Your aunt Ida is coming for a visit.”

  “Who?” Rita and I both said at once.

  “Well, you don’t know her,” Mom said. “She hasn’t been here since Scott was a baby.”

  “So who is she?” I asked, spooning another heap of fried potatoes on my plate.

  “She’s a very interesting woman,” Mom said. “Actually, she’s your father’s aunt. She is a very well-known photographer. She travels all over the world for different magazines, taking photos.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  “So she’s old?” Rita said.

  Mom swallowed a mouthful of hamburger. “Old people can be fun and interesting. Did you know that, Rita?”

  Rita shrugged and didn’t answer.

  “Anyway, your aunt Ida is a lot of fun. She has a million crazy stories about all the interesting places she’s been. She’ll be here in a few days.”

  “Is she bringing a dog with her?” Rita asked. Then she burst out laughing.

  Mom shook her head. “You are so not funny.” But she was smiling anyway. Anything Rita does is okay with her.

  * * *

  The next morning was picture day at school. A photographer was coming to take everyone’s photo for the yearbook and a picture of our class.

  I decided to wear my best sweater, a black V-neck, over a navy-blue T-shirt, and my new jeans, which were still stiff and uncomfortable but would photograph nicely for the class photo.

  It was a warm morning for late October. The air felt heavy and wet. The street and sidewalks were still puddled with rain from the night before. The lawns glistened under the sunlight.

  I crossed the street when I reached the graveyard. I turned, searching up and down Ardmore Road for Amanda. No sign of her.

  I started to trot, eyes straight ahead. As you know, I like to get past the graveyard as fast as I can. “Hey!” I cried out as I ran into a deep puddle and splashed cold rainwater over the front of my new jeans.

  Forget about looking awesome in the class photo today.

  Some kids across the street started to laugh. Had they seen me splash myself?

  I started to walk but didn’t get far. Mickey, Morty, and Kenji blocked my path. Mickey grinned that big grin of his that makes you want to punch his face for about half an hour. “Hey, Scotty. What’s up?”

  “Not your IQ,” I said. I thought it was pretty clever, but the three of them stared at me as if I were speaking Martian.

  “Was that supposed to be a joke?” Mickey said.

  “I know a good joke,” Morty chimed in. “Who got covered in mud on school picture day?”

  “Hey, listen, guys —” I tried to back away.

  “We didn’t finish the joke,” Morty said. He had a toothpick bobbing between his teeth. Guess he thought it made him look tough. “You have to wait for the punch line.”

  “But I’m the punch line!” I exclaimed.

  “Yeah. You got it,” Kenji said. He grabbed me around the waist and struggled to lift me off the sidewalk. It wasn’t much of a struggle. He’s a big, powerful bruiser.

  A car rumbled past. I wished I could jump into it and zoom away.

  Mickey grabbed my ankles. His brother held me around the shoul
ders. The three dudes carried me across the street and through the cemetery gates.

  “Hey, guys? What are you going to do?” I cried. My voice came out tiny and shrill, like a bird chirping. “Can we talk about this?”

  “Sure. Go ahead and talk,” Kenji said.

  “We want you to have a good photo,” Morty said. “Something to remember. I mean, a sixth-grade photo is a big deal, right?”

  “We want yours to be special,” Mickey said.

  I struggled and squirmed. I tried to kick myself free. But these guys were just too strong.

  “I really want an ordinary photo,” I said in my little bird voice. “Nothing special. Seriously.”

  Those were the last words I said before they heaved me headfirst into an open grave.

  I didn’t see it coming. I landed flat on my stomach with a hard, squishy splash. My face sank into the wet mud on the grave floor. I started to choke. I couldn’t breathe.

  It took a few seconds to get over the shock of thudding into the deep, wet mud. I heard their laughter above me. Then it faded away. I could hear the rapid thump of footsteps as the three Hulks took off, their mission accomplished.

  I forced myself to my knees. I wiped a thick clot of mud from my eyes. Then mopped my face with the sleeve of my best sweater. Mud clung to the front of the sweater and both legs of my jeans. I raised a hand and brushed the thick gooey stuff from my hair.

  “They call me Mud-Man!” I exclaimed. My voice echoed off the walls of the grave.

  I pictured myself as a Marvel superhero — Mud-Man! — with an exclamation mark. A lot like the Hulk, or maybe as quiet and powerful as Thor. Mud-Man! I’d follow my three enemies to school and we’d have an all-day battle. And at the end, I’d force them to eat their weight in mud!

  Yesss!

  But that fantasy quickly evaporated. And I was left in the muddy swamp of a grave. Just a mud-caked sixth grader on school picture day. A victim once again.

  Victim. What a sad, ugly word.

  I shook my mud-soaked fist. That’s the last time. I’m not going to be a victim again.

  I glanced around, my brain spinning. Should I go on to school and tell everyone I was in an accident? Should I go home and change so I could take a decent photo in clean clothes?

  I swallowed hard. I was so caked in mud, I could taste it on my tongue, smell it in my nostrils.