by Brandon Mull
Cole recalled a time at the movies when Dalton accidentally left his ticket stub in the restroom before the show. Dalton had spent the rest of the time freaking out that the movie police were going to catch him without it and accuse him of theater hopping. He finally went and confessed to a worker about his lost stub. Of course the guy told him not to worry about it.
“It’s just for effect,” Cole assured his friend. “They’re trying to make it scarier.”
Dalton shook his head. “He did it quietly. I barely heard it. What kind of effect does it have when nobody hears it?”
“You heard it. You checked. You’re scared. Seems like they’re experts.”
“Or psychopaths.”
The five other kids were milling around at the bottom of the stairs. Blake had crouched to inspect the lantern. Stepping away from the light, he tugged at one of the black curtains. “This way.”
As he pulled the drapery aside, Blake revealed a large man. Lantern light reflected off a mostly bald head with a bristly fringe around the sides. His wide, flat nose topped a drooping handlebar mustache. A fragile bone protruded from one earlobe. His overalls looked homemade, sloppily patched together from rough material. Curly hair sprouted from his thick bare shoulders.
Most of the kids jumped or stepped back. Lacie shrieked. The bulky stranger grinned at the reaction. Two of his teeth looked like they were made of dull gray metal.
“Ready to be scared?” he asked, eyes eager. His voice had a vaguely Southern twang. He rubbed his meaty hands together.
Cole glanced at Dalton. Maybe his friend had been right. He didn’t like the idea of being locked down here with this weirdo.
“Who are you?” Jenna asked.
“Me?” the man replied, squinting at her. “You came here to be frightened, am I wrong?”
“That’s right,” Blake said.
The big stranger leered. “I’ll make sure you get what you came for. I’ll take you around, be certain you behave. You mustn’t touch anything.”
Dalton stepped closer to Cole. Jenna held hands with Chelsea.
“They call me Ham,” the man said, picking up the lantern. He reeked of dust and sweat. “Tonight I will guide you to terrors like you have never known. Sure you want to keep going?”
“The door is locked,” Dalton said weakly, twitching his chin toward the stairs.
Ham glared at Dalton. “Then you’d better stay with me.” The big man held the curtain aside. Blake led the way through. Cole and Dalton brought up the rear.
Cole was one of the shorter kids in his grade, as was Dalton. They barely came up to Ham’s chest. After they had moved beyond the curtain, Ham let it fall.
More dark curtains created a perimeter around the next space. Bones lay on the floor, some a little yellowed, some cracked or chipped. Human bones mingled with strange animal bones. To one side of the space rested a skull that was the size of a shopping cart and had a pair of thick broken tusks. It couldn’t be real. The giant skull didn’t match any animal Cole could picture, not even prehistoric ones. But it looked just as genuine as the other bones, which probably meant they were all fake.
Blake picked up what looked like an arm bone. “This feels realistic,” he said.
“Real as you are,” Ham replied.
“Run!” a young voice screamed, coming from somewhere behind the curtains to the left. “It’s almost too late. Run for it! This isn’t a—”
The voice was abruptly cut off.
Ham grinned. “You weren’t supposed to hear that. Pay it no mind.”
Dalton gave Cole a worried look. Cole had to admit the warning was a nice touch. It had sounded sincere. And Ham was unsettling. He seemed a little off—not very bright, big, creepy-looking, maybe not totally sane. He was the perfect pick to host a scary tour. Could he be a professional actor?
The curtains at the far side of the area parted, and a short swarthy woman emerged. She had a stocky build and wispy black whiskers above the sides of her mouth. Strands of gray highlighted her tangled black hair. Her clothes looked like layers of tattered rags.
“Last group,” the woman announced, her eyes on Ham. “Ansel wants to get gone.”
“Ansel is the boss,” Ham replied.
The woman turned her attention to the visitors. “You kids came here to be scared. What do you know of fear? What do you know about hardship? You come from a soft, fat world full of soft, fat communities that breed soft, fat children. What kind of world celebrates bleakness on its holidays? A world that knows no bleakness. A world where bleakness has become a novelty.”
“Is this going to be educational?” Blake sighed with despair.
The woman smiled. “I expect it might be very educational. You came here for thrills, boy, and thrills you will have.”
“I hope so,” Blake said. “These bones are about as scary as a museum.”
“If you had any sense, the bones would scare you plenty,” the woman said. “The bones are a warning. The bones are trophies. You came here to feel fear, and it is only fair you should be rewarded. Fear can be relative. What frightens one may not frighten another. Take this hunter roach, for example.”
She held up a mottled brown cockroach the size of a bar of soap. The roach squirmed and hissed, legs wriggling. A pair of long antennae swiveled and twitched. As she held it, the roach curled its head to repeatedly strike at her thumb.
“See it biting me?” the woman asked. “On the prairie, you either build up a tolerance to the venom, or you die. Would any of you care to hold it?”
Nobody volunteered.
The woman shrugged. “To you this critter might seem scary. And maybe it should, because its venom would burn and fester beneath your skin. Might even kill you. But to me it’s a snack.” She popped the cockroach into her mouth and chewed. Cole heard it crunching. Black juice dribbled from one corner of her lips. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, leaving a faint smeared stain. Cole glanced over at Dalton, who made a gagging face. Lacie and Sarah turned away, murmuring hysterically to each other. The woman’s eyes were on Blake. “Scared yet?”
“A little,” Blake admitted. “But that was more gross than scary.”
The woman gave a small smile. “You have no idea what lies beyond those curtains. You are all in quite a predicament. Would it scare you to know that your time in this world is over? Would it scare you to know that you will never see your families again? Would it scare you to know that all your plans and expectations for what your lives would hold became irrelevant when you walked down those stairs?”
“That isn’t funny,” Jenna said. “Halloween or not, you shouldn’t make those kinds of jokes.”
Cole agreed with Jenna. With those threats, the woman was crossing a line that should not be crossed. The locked door and the creepiness of Ham and the shouted warning and the eating of the bug were adding up in ways he didn’t like. They really might be in trouble. If it was all a trick, it was working.
The woman nodded. “You’re catching on. None of this is funny. You belong to us now. You kids want to be scared?” She raised her voice. “Time to pack up! Tear down the drapes! Let’s round up these stragglers and get gone!”
Many of the black curtains began to fall, torn down or hurled aside. Various men were revealed. A muscular redhead in a leather vest and buckskin trousers clutched a short metal rod. A pale, lanky man with white hair bared teeth that had been filed down to cruel triangles. A short Asian man in robes and a tightly wrapped turban held a net and a wooden pole. And a person with the head of a wolf and golden fur flexed fingers tipped with claws. If it was a costume, it was the best one Cole had ever seen.
A few other men were in view, but Cole found his attention straying past the grubby assortment of villains. His eyes went to the cages. Beyond the curtains, on both sides of the room, were cages packed with kids in Halloween costumes. The kids were seated, subdued, defeated.
Part of Cole still hoped this was all an elaborate hoax. If this was just part
of the spook alley, then the creators had succeeded, because he felt certain that he and his friends were in genuine danger—that the men advancing on them were not actors in costumes, they were real criminals. The captives in the cages were definitely kids from the neighborhood. Cole recognized a few of them.
The men charged forward. The redhead seized Blake by the back of the neck and hurled him to the ground. Ham was reaching for Jenna.
That was all Cole needed to see. If these guys were getting physical, this was officially real. Stepping toward Ham, Cole swung his candy bag at the lantern as if he were trying to knock it out of a ballpark. The casing shattered with a flash, plunging the room into darkness.
Somebody jostled roughly into him, and Cole went down. He could see nothing. People were screaming. He rose, staggering blindly toward where he thought the stairs would be. Somebody had to get away. If these were kidnappers, somebody had to make it to the police before the situation turned even uglier.
Cole found himself tangled in curtains. Yanking desperately, he pulled them down. Instead of falling and letting him pass, the drapes landed on him. He tried to keep moving forward, but he hurried straight into a wall and fell.
A moment later a light came on. Instinctively, Cole held still. He was hidden beneath the fallen curtains. He heard orders being shouted. More lights were lit.
Moving slowly, Cole peeked out from under the edge of the drapery. An overhead electric light was on, along with three glowing lanterns. He had run exactly the wrong way. He was on the far side of the room, away from the stairs that led up to the kitchen. His friends were being manhandled into cages.
The stocky woman stood conversing with a lean man in a wide-brimmed hat and a long weathered duster. He held a sickle in one veiny hand.
Ham tromped up the stairs. He knocked on the door three times, hard enough to make it shake. The Boo guy opened it.
“We’re done,” Ham said.
“Good,” Boo replied. “Great. I take it you’re satisfied?”
“You did your part.” Ham grunted, handing over a bulging sack. Boo accepted it. When he reached inside, Cole heard the unmistakable clink and rattle of coins. From his position on the floor, where he had slightly tented the curtain so he could peer out, Cole caught a glint of gold as Boo removed a few coins from the sack, weighing them in his hand.
“Do you need anything else from us?” Boo asked.
Ham looked back at the lean man in the duster, who shook his head. “Just get far away from here. After that, rest easy. Nobody will be able to follow us. Nobody will see these kids again. They’ll soon be forgotten.”
Boo hefted the bag of coins in a sort of salute. “A pleasure. Safe travels. Happy Halloween.” He closed the door.
Ham came back down the stairs. He and the redhead wrestled the lid off a manhole cover in the center of the room. The pale man with the funky teeth walked over to one of the cages, keys in hand.
The lean man in the wide-brimmed hat held up a hand, and the room went silent. “Smart children,” he said in a parched voice, not much more than a stage whisper. “You behaved well. Most of you kept silent as directed. Those who did not suffered as promised. We do not wish to harm you. This will be orderly. You will pay if you try something. We will make an example of you. We are your masters now. Treat us with due respect, and we will deal with you fairly.” He motioned with his sickle for the pale man to proceed.
The cage opened. Kids filed out. They all wore iron collars. Their legs were chained together. Cole guessed they were mostly between fifth and seventh grades. He saw no really little ones. One boy dressed as a pirate was gagged and had a huge bruise on his cheek that did not seem to be part of his costume.
The kids were paraded over to the open manhole. Ham went down first, slowly disappearing as he descended an unseen ladder. Before his head vanished, he paused. “When the rungs stop, just drop,” he said. Then his head was gone.
The first kid, a girl with sparkly horns and a red cape, paused at the brink. “Down there?”
“Go,” the pale man urged. “You’re worth more alive, but we can make use of more bones.”
She turned. It seemed awkward for her to get started with her ankles chained together. She crouched and started down.
Cole slowly let the edge of the curtain fall, closing off his view. He had ended up near a far corner of the room. There were fallen curtains everywhere, resting in lumpy piles. If he kept still, they might miss him. Unless they picked up the curtains before they left.
Where could the manhole lead? Were there big sewer tunnels running under Mesa? Apparently, they at least had some under this neighborhood. Maybe they would surface inside a warehouse where semitrailers stood waiting. Maybe the trucks would head over the border along some secret route. Anything seemed possible.
Occasionally a kid would protest from down in the manhole. The men up top would growl at him or her to drop. Cole heard several echoing screams trail off ominously.
These criminals were kidnapping dozens of people. They were taking Dalton. They were taking Jenna. He had to do something.
But he had to be smart. If he emerged now, he would get caught. Once they were gone, he could probably climb the stairs, break down the door, and go to the police. Would it be too late? Would the cops be able to follow the kidnappers through the sewers? If alerted quickly, would the authorities be able to guess where these men might be headed? What about Boo? Had he already left with the other spook alley workers? Or would they all be there, waiting for him?
Cole wished he had a cell phone. His parents had decided he was too young to need one. If they could see him now, he suspected they might rethink their policy.
He lay with his chin on the cement floor. The heavy drapes were making him sweat. His heart thudded in his chest.
Cole peeked again. Now that the kids understood the drill, the procession into the manhole was going fast.
He closed his peephole. Nobody was looking his way. Nobody was talking about a kid gone missing. One of the men was gathering up bones, but nobody was gathering curtains.
How could somebody kidnap this many people? It should be national news! There had to be more than forty kids. The whole town would be in an uproar! The whole country would demand answers!
Raising the edge of the curtain, Cole watched as the last kids descended into the hole. Jenna was among them. Dalton was already gone. Cole had missed it. Some of the men had gone down as well.
The man in the wide-brimmed hat checked an old-fashioned pocket watch. “The way will close in less than ten minutes.”
“Excellent timing, Ansel,” the woman said. “This was a good plan.”
“Think we found what we were looking for?” Ansel asked.
“Impossible to tell on this side,” the woman replied. “But it’s a large sample. I expect we have what we need. It should add up to quite a take.”
“It’s too early to count money,” Ansel said. “Slaves captured are not slaves delivered. We sank most of our funds into this operation. I’ll celebrate when the cargo has been sold.”
Men tossed bones down the manhole. Cole did not hear them landing. Lastly, the redhead and a scarred man with long blond hair lowered the great skull down the hole, disappearing with it.
Soon only Ansel and the woman remained. Ansel’s eyes swept the room. Cole felt the urge to lower the edge of the curtain, but he realized that a hasty movement might draw the eye. He held still, trusting that his face was tucked far enough back into the shadows to escape observation.
“Are we finished?” the woman asked.
Ansel checked his pocket watch. “Just over six minutes left.” He gazed around the room again. “Doesn’t matter how we leave the place. Nobody can follow us. We’re done here.”
She climbed down the manhole, and he followed. “Do we cover it?” her voice asked from out of sight.
“No need.”
Cole waited. The room became silent. Were they really gone? Seemed like it. What would
change in six minutes? Were they bombing the sewer tunnel? Closing it off somehow? Were they really going to sell all those kids into slavery?
In a far corner of the room a little girl crawled out from under a heap of curtains. She was small and skinny, with wavy auburn hair and freckles. She was dressed as an angel. Her wings had crumpled, and her tinsel halo was askew.
The girl looked around furtively. She approached the manhole cautiously and peered down. Then she turned for the stairs.
“Hey,” Cole called.
The girl whirled and jumped, her face contorting with fear. Cole came out from under his curtains. She stared at him in shock and wonder, as if he must be a mirage. “You hid too?” she asked.
“By accident,” Cole said. “I got lucky.”
“I was part of a big group,” the girl explained. “I ran for the corner and hid behind the curtains. Nobody noticed me. When the curtains came down, they covered me. I watched three groups get nabbed after I came here. You were with the last group.”
“Right,” Cole said.
“I wanted to warn you guys, but it was too late. They would have gotten me too.”
“Once we came down the stairs, we were doomed,” Cole said. “My friend heard them lock the door. He had a bad feeling about it, but I ignored him. And now . . .” He gestured at the hole.
“What do we do?” the girl asked.
Cole shrugged. “I don’t know. You don’t have a phone, do you?”
She shook her head.
“It sounded like they sent away the guys upstairs.”
The girl nodded.
Cole looked at the manhole. “They didn’t think they could be followed.”
“I didn’t understand why not,” the girl said. “A lot of what they said didn’t make sense. Where could they sell kids as slaves?”
“Some foreign country, I guess,” Cole said. He walked to the open manhole and stared down. Rungs descended as far as he could see, which was not very far. It got dark quickly.
“Look,” Cole said. “Why don’t you go for help? Call the police. I’ll go down and see if I can figure out where they’re going.”
