The Fear Zone

by K. R. Alexander

  It feels like it takes forever. It feels like we are fighting a bear.

  The clown roars and yells, more animal than human, the entire cave shuddering with his rage.

  A part of me knows I should be terrified. Knows that I should let go and run away and beg forgiveness because there is no way we could ever beat this creature, no way it will ever rest now that it knows us, now that it’s found us.

  Now that it’s tasted our fear.

  Then I look at my friends, the struggle on their faces, the sweat on their brows, and I know I will never give up. I will never turn back. Not now.

  We reach the grave and manage to get him over the pit. I glance down quickly to see the open casket that Caroline had been trapped in. She stands at the side of the grave, watching us all with wide eyes and dirt smudging her pale cheeks. She is frozen in shock, still as a statue.

  But the clown won’t go in.

  Its arms thrash wildly, and it’s all we can do to hold on. Even as we struggle, its arms and legs seem to grow longer. Like spider legs. Clinging to the sides of the pit. Refusing to give in.

  “We aren’t going to make it!” Andres yells out. “It’s too strong!”

  “Your fear makes me stronger!” the clown yells gleefully.

  Only … we aren’t afraid.

  We are determined.

  So then …

  Things click for me the same moment they do for her.

  “Oh!” Caroline gasps. Her eyes light up with clarity.

  Immediately, she leaps for the clown, wrapping her arms tight around its neck.

  The clown roars in defeat. Dirt rains from the ceiling.

  But it works.

  Its arms and legs retract to a normal length. And, together, we manage to force it down into the grave. Caroline stays on its back, her arms around its neck and her legs around its torso. It continues to shrink, now only the size of her. Once it’s down in the casket, she twists around and grabs for my outstretched hand. I lift her out, but the clown grabs after her. She kicks its hand and then kicks the casket shut.

  The clown hammers its hands on the lid, howling. And I know that it will escape, that the latch won’t hold. Caroline seems to gather this at the same time. She wrenches herself from my grasp and falls back on top of the lid.

  “Do it!” she yells. “Bury it!”

  “But what about you?” I yell.

  “I’ll be fine,” she says back, her voice hitching over the sound of the wailing clown. “I have to face my fear too. And this is how I have to do it. Hurry!”

  I look at the boys. Their eyes are wide. Disbelieving.

  We don’t have time.

  I grab the shovel and start pushing dirt into the grave. On top of the casket. And on top of Caroline.

  The clown wails and Caroline keeps her eyes and mouth closed as we pile more and more dirt on top of them. Until we can’t see the casket, even though it shakes the earth with its struggle.

  Until we can’t see Caroline.

  Soon, all the dirt is back on the grave.

  Caroline and the clown are buried.

  “She’s still in there,” I say. I drop to my knees and clench my fingers into the soil. “Come on, Caroline. You can do it. You can make it. We’re here for you!”

  We all kneel there in silence. Staring at the grave. Waiting and hoping that Caroline will be able to escape.

  She faced her fear of being buried.

  She should be allowed to escape. Just like we did.

  Moments turn to minutes. And soon, the silent cave no longer rumbles. The dirt doesn’t move.

  “Come on, Caroline,” I whisper. A tear falls down my cheek, lands in the soil. “Please.”

  Deshaun puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “I think she’s gone, April,” he says.

  I shake my head. “No. She can’t be. We have to save her. She saved us! We can’t just leave her.”

  I start to dig with my hands. Andres comes over to help.

  The dirt shifts in front of me.

  I freeze.

  Is it the clown, or Caroline?

  And then, up from the dirt, shoots a tiny hand. Pale skin. And chipped, painted fingernails.

  “Caroline!” I yell.

  We all drop to our knees and dig.

  We aren’t leaving without all five of us. The clown had said it as a threat, but I will fulfill it as a promise.

  We sit together on the swing set down at the park, watching the other kids mill about. It’s a beautiful, sunny afternoon, and that makes everyone want to stick around. To stay a little longer.

  I look to my friends. My real friends. Deshaun and Andres and Kyle and April.

  Deshaun pushes April on the swing, and she giggles like no one else is watching. Andres swings beside her; every once in a while, Kyle rushes up behind him and gives him a push, sending him laughing and flying high.

  It’s been a few weeks since we faced the clown.

  None of us have had a nightmare since. None of us have seen anything bad or scary.

  I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well.

  I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy. So alive.

  My dad and I have even started talking about Mom. The things we loved, the things we remember. It’s hard. But it brings us closer. And when we face the loss together, we remember we have each other.

  I smile at my friends.

  We faced the loss together. And we have each other.

  Andres slows his swinging and looks over to Deshaun.

  “If you ever need advice on how to deal with annoying brothers,” Andres says, “I’m your guy. I have way too many.”

  Deshaun chuckles.

  “Nah, it’s fine. I’ve practically lived with Kyle my entire life. Having him actually move in to the guest room just means his dirty laundry is no longer on my bed.”

  “Hey!” Kyle says with a smile. “I don’t leave dirty laundry. That was always you. I am very clean, thank you.” He laughs. “If anything, I should be grateful that your stuff is no longer getting mixed up with mine.”

  Deshaun rolls his eyes.

  “What should we do tonight?” April asks. “Scary movie at mine?”

  I laugh. “Maybe not a scary movie. But I’m in.”

  “Us too,” Andres and Kyle echo.

  “Actually,” Deshaun says, “why don’t we do it at mine? We can have a little housewarming party for Kyle, now that he’s officially part of the family.”

  “Yeah!” Andres says. “We can help you arrange your room.”

  Kyle chuckles. “I’ve seen your room. I think I’ll have Caroline help me organize, thanks.”

  I don’t remember the last time I had friends like this. Friends who supported one another, who didn’t judge or bully. It feels like how friends should be.

  “Come on,” April says. “Let’s go. We can grab some pizzas on the way.”

  “I want pepperoni!” Andres shouts, hopping off the swing. He takes Kyle’s hand, and April comes over and takes mine, and Deshaun takes hers, and we all walk off the playground together, laughing and talking about what movies we will watch, and whether or not we should make popcorn.

  We pass by the flagpole, and I notice two boys standing there, huddled together, looking at something.

  “What do you think it means?” I hear one of them ask. I don’t know their names. They must be fifth graders.

  “I don’t know,” the other says. “Do you think we should do it?”

  I glance at what they hold.

  A piece of orange paper.

  I can’t read the writing, but I know the font. Despite the warmth of the sun and my friends, my heart goes cold.

  “Why not?” I hear the first one say. “It’s just the graveyard.” He looks at me and lowers his voice before telling his friend: “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  For a book about fear, this one has been an absolute blast to write, and I want to thank everyone who helped bring it about. First, my undying gratitude g
oes to Jana Haussmann, for sparking the idea and inspiring such a terrifying tale. Did she know that I grew up with life-size portraits of clowns in my living room (don’t ask)? Probably not, but it seemed cosmic that we should work on this book together. And my deepest thanks go to my editor, David Levithan, for all of his keen insight—especially on how to add humor to something so scary (like sharks in the middle of Iowa! Though … I’m from Iowa, and I was totally afraid of sharks in the pool. And yes, that’s another ellipsis for you to edit. Sorry not sorry!). My thanks as well to my agent, Brent Taylor, for rooting for me all the way.

  I want to thank Scholastic and the Book Fairs for all of their amazing support—their enthusiasm for scary stories has been overwhelming, and I am so grateful to have such a wonderful team behind me. I couldn’t have done any of this without you. A special shout-out as well to Nina Goffi for creating yet another terrifying cover. I can say without doubt that you will be giving all of us nightmares. And causing many passersby to wonder why I have a photo of a creepy clown as my phone background.

  Finally, and most importantly, I want to thank you, the readers and teachers, for not only reading and sharing your love of scary stories, but for the fantastic letters and emails that brighten my day. Hearing from you truly means the world.

  I hope my books will continue to scare and delight you for many years to come.

  K.R. Alexander is the pseudonym for author Alex R. Kahler.

  As K.R., he writes creepy middle grade books for brave young readers. As Alex—his actual first name—he writes fantasy novels for adults and teens. In both cases, he loves writing fiction drawn from true life experiences. (But this book can’t be real … can it?)

  Alex has traveled the world collecting strange and fascinating tales, from the misty moors of Scotland to the humid jungles of Hawaii. He is always on the move, as he believes there is much more to life than what meets the eye.

  You can learn more about his travels and books, including The Collector, The Fear Zone, and the books in the Scare Me series, on his website: cursedlibrary.com

  He looks forward to scaring you again … soon.

  “Ewww, I have fake blood on my shirt!”

  I glance over to Julie, who—sure enough—has bright red corn syrup dripping down from the pocket of her T-shirt.

  Tanesha breaks into laughter.

  “That was me,” she says. “I put a blood capsule in your pocket. Don’t worry—it will wash out.”

  Julie glowers over at her, but Julie’s anger never lasts very long. Almost immediately, she starts laughing.

  “Good one, Tanesha, but just remember—”

  “I don’t get mad, I get even,” both Tanesha and I say. And then we all start giggling. It’s Julie’s favorite phrase. But I’m pretty certain that she’s never actually tried to get even.

  Which is good, because Tanesha is a master prankster. If Julie tried to pull one over on her, I don’t think it would end well.

  Still giggling, we continue carrying our crates of scary props to the big old mansion in front of us. Three stories tall, with fading blue paint, huge windows, and a yard the size of a football field, Corvidon Manor is our town’s largest and oldest home. Most of the year, it’s a history museum, where people can look at old photographs of our town or talk to Mr. Evans, the proprietor, who gives free tours. I’ve been inside a few times for school field trips. From November to September, it’s pretty boring.

  Then October arrives.

  For the month of October, Corvidon Manor is our playground. Every Halloween, Happy Hills holds a fund-raiser for our animal shelter. Four teams of kids each design a creepy experience for the mansion, one per floor, including the basement. The one with the scariest floor gets a year’s supply of pizza and ice cream from Jolly Jerry’s Pizzeria.

  For the other teams, it’s just a fun way to raise money. For me, it’s a life calling. Someday, I want to build real haunted houses or work in movies. I take this seriously.

  Which is why, when I see Patricia’s mom’s sports car rounding the corner, a sick acid roils in my gut. She and her team beat us last year. And they didn’t win fair.

  “Come on, Kevin,” Tanesha says, noticing my stare. “We’re going to win this year. Don’t let her psych you out.”

  I nod glumly.

  “Bloody Banshees forever,” Julie says hopefully. Our little slogan.

  “Bloody Banshees forever,” Tanesha and I repeat.

  I stare up at the house as we reach the wraparound patio. In the summer, this place is green and filled with birds and a gurgling fountain. But it’s like the moment October hits, the house itself knows it’s game time. The trees in the yard have already turned a deep red orange. The fountain no longer gurgles and instead sits heavy with fallen leaves and wary toads. And maybe it’s my imagination, but the closer we get to the house, the colder it seems to become.

  As if the house knows it’s time to get scary.

  As if it, too, is excited.

  Our feet creak on the wooden front steps.

  Behind us, a murder of crows startles from a tree, flying off in a flutter of angry caws and black wings and orange leaves.

  Julie shivers.

  “Do you think that’s a good sign?” she asks quietly.

  I smile.

  “Definitely. I think it’s a sign that this year is going to be the scariest yet.”

  Copyright © 2019 by Alex R. Kahler writing as K. R. Alexander

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First printing 2019

  Cover design by Baily Crawford and Nina Goffi

  Cover photos © Shutterstock: face (tugol), eye (Stephanie Connell), balloon (Physicx), (pukach), hand print (vectortatu).

  e-ISBN 978-1-338-57781-5

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