Three Evil Wishes

by R. L. Stine

  “Yo! Get him!” Roy cried suddenly.

  Mike moved quickly. He raised the big insect net—and swooped it down over the startled genie’s head.

  The genie was so surprised—and Mike was so strong—that he pushed the genie to the ground.

  This was our chance. “Jesse—run!” I screamed.

  We both took off toward home.

  I called out thanks to the Burger brothers.

  “Thanks for changing us back to humans!” Roy called.

  Well . . . they’re almost human, I thought.

  And I’d never been so glad to see them.

  But how long could they hold the genie under the net?

  Could Jesse and I get to the garage in time?

  23

  As we ran desperately through the woods, I tried to explain my plan to Jesse.

  “We’ll keep the garage dark,” I said breathlessly. “I’ll stand my sculpture of you behind the worktable. I’ll tell the genie that you are the one we picked to go in the bottle.”

  “Huh? Me?” Jesse gasped, leaping over a tall, round rock. “Why does it have to be me?”

  “It won’t really be you,” I told him, panting hard as I ran. The back of the garage came into view. “You hide in the back of the garage. We want the genie to think that the sculpture is you. We want the genie to put the sculpture in the bottle. That way, we’ll be safe.”

  We reached the front of the garage, gasping and panting.

  “Will it work?” Jesse asked. “Will it fool him?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, struggling to catch my breath. “Maybe if it’s dark enough, he’ll fall for it.”

  I swallowed hard. “Maybe . . .” I crossed my fingers and prayed for good luck.

  We both hoisted up the garage door.

  I moved quickly to my worktable. I uncovered my life-size sculpture of Jesse.

  The nose still wasn’t right. But it was too late to worry about that.

  Jesse hid behind the cartons in the back of the garage.

  I heard a whisper of wind. Then saw the swirling purple smoke.

  The genie floated quickly into the garage, his robe flowing around him. His eyes flashed purple, like two coals in a dying fire.

  “Those bunny boys are strong,” he rasped. “But not strong enough to hold a wisp of smoke.”

  “What did you do to them?” I demanded. “Did you turn them back into bunnies?”

  He frowned. “That would be a waste of magic. I just left them there in the woods, swinging their net, wondering how I got away. Hoo. They looked very confused.”

  His expression changed. “I needed to save my magic. It takes a lot of strength to squeeze you into the bottle.”

  He floated closer. I could feel the electric purple waves shooting off his body.

  “Are you ready, Hannah?” he demanded, reaching out a hand. “Are you through trying to escape? Are you ready to enter your new home?”

  “Uh . . . well . . . there’s been a change of plan,” I told him.

  He raised one purple eyebrow. “A change of plan?”

  I nodded. I gestured to the Jesse sculpture, standing so still behind the worktable. “Jesse is going into the bottle,” I announced in a choked whisper. “He—he’s being very brave.”

  I pretended to cry. “Jesse has decided he will be the one,” I told the genie. I let out a sob. I made my shoulders tremble.

  The genie turned to the figure of Jesse. He narrowed his eyes at it, squinting into the deep darkness.

  Would he fall for my trick?

  Would he believe that was Jesse standing there?

  24

  I backed up to the full-length mirror. I stopped when I felt the mirror press against my back.

  My eyes moved from the genie to the Jesse sculpture.

  In the darkness of the garage, the sculpture looked so real, so lifelike.

  But it stood so still. As still as a statue.

  How bad was the old genie’s eyesight?

  Would he believe it was Jesse?

  Would he put the sculpture in the bottle? Then go away and never come back?

  I sucked in my breath as the genie floated closer to the worktable. He stared hard at the sculpture. Squinted at it for what seemed like hours!

  “It won’t be so bad, Jesse,” he told it. “It’s a little cramped in there. And there’s no bathroom. But after a hundred years or so . . . you’ll get used to it.”

  It’s working! I thought, crossing my fingers again.

  It’s working!

  The genie lowered the bottle to the garage floor in front of him.

  Then he raised both hands. And began to chant.

  “Good-bye, Jesse,” I cried, sobbing loudly. “Good-bye. I’ll miss you. I really will.”

  I pretended to cry loudly. I covered my face with both hands and let out sob after sob.

  But all the while, I had my eyes on the genie.

  As the genie chanted, he swayed from side to side.

  His voice grew louder. Stronger.

  Clouds of purple floated around and around the garage. The purple mist floated around the bottle on the floor. And around my sculpture.

  The genie waved his hands and swayed harder.

  He chanted even louder.

  Then he suddenly stopped.

  The purple clouds vanished.

  I gaped at him in shock. “What’s wrong?” I whispered.

  He turned to me. Even in the darkness of the garage I could see the anger on his twisted features.

  “My eyesight is pretty bad, Hannah,” he rasped. “But not that bad.”

  “Wh-what do you mean?” I stammered hoarsely.

  “That’s not Jesse,” the genie cried angrily. “That’s your clay sculpture.”

  He raised both hands toward me. His eyes glowed so brightly, they lit up the garage.

  “Your little trick didn’t work, Hannah,” the genie whispered. “Now you will have to pay.”

  25

  “Now you’re going in the bottle! Have a pleasant journey, Hannah,” the genie cried.

  He raised his hands toward me and began to chant.

  He swayed his whole body and chanted louder.

  I could see the purple clouds rising all around.

  My eyes lowered to the brown bottle. I saw wisps of purple float around it.

  I suddenly felt drawn to it. I could feel myself being pulled . . . pulled to the bottle.

  I raised my eyes and saw the purple mist shooting toward me. Shooting from the genie’s outstretched hands.

  Like purple lightning. Aimed at me.

  Pulling me. Pulling me to the bottle . . .

  The genie’s chant became a scream. He waved both hands hard.

  Shot a final purple bolt of electricity at me.

  I took a deep breath—

  And ducked.

  I hit the garage floor and rolled away.

  And turned in time to see the bolt of purple lightning hit the full-length mirror that was behind me.

  The lightning bounced off the mirror—and shot back to the genie.

  Surrounded him. Swirled over him.

  The genie blazed in purple light. A light so bright, I had to shield my eyes.

  “Nooooooo!” I heard his scream of horror.

  I opened my eyes in time to see the genie shrink inside the purple electricity. Shrink . . . shrink . . . into the brown bottle.

  With a desperate leap, I dove to the floor—and shoved the cork deep into the bottle opening.

  The bottle shook hard in my hand.

  And then lay still.

  Jesse crawled out from behind the cartons. “Wow!” he murmured. “Wow! How did you do that, Hannah?”

  I struggled to catch my breath as I climbed to my feet. “I ducked,” I told Jesse. “That’s all. I ducked—and the genie cast his spell on himself.”

  Jesse stared down at the brown bottle. So still. So silent.

  So harmless now.

  “Whew!” He sighed
. “My legs are still trembling.” He slapped me a high-five. “You did it! You did it!”

  I picked up the bottle. “I won’t feel safe until this is back in Fear Lake,” I said with a shudder.

  “You mean—” Jesse started to say.

  I nodded. “Yes. We have to take it there—right now. I have to know that it’s gone forever.”

  We were both weary and shaken. But we headed back through the Fear Street woods anyway.

  I carried the bottle tightly in two hands. I wanted to run to the lake and toss the bottle away as fast as I could. But I walked slowly and carefully.

  I didn’t want to accidentally break the bottle and let the genie escape.

  “Do you believe the Burger brothers actually helped us?” Jesse said as we made our way to the lakeshore.

  “Yes. We kind of got our wish after all!” I exclaimed. “I mean, they are our friends now. We don’t have to be afraid of them anymore.”

  “Weird,” Jesse replied, shaking his head. “I guess the genie came through for us in a way.”

  I didn’t care. When we reached the edge of the lake, sparkling like silver under the pale moonlight, I pulled back my arm—and heaved the bottle as high and as far as I could.

  It sailed out far. And hit the water with a solid plunk.

  Water splashed up around it.

  The bottle sunk below the surface. Then I saw it bob back up to the top.

  Jesse and I both let out happy cheers. We actually hugged each other—something we haven’t done since I was four!

  We did a happy dance of celebration. Tossing each other around. Our shoes slapping the wet mud of the lakeshore.

  I stopped dancing when I tripped over something.

  I caught my balance and gazed down.

  “What is that?” I cried.

  Jesse bent and picked it up. It was a lamp. A strangely shaped brass lamp.

  “Weird,” Jesse murmured, holding it up close to his face with both hands.

  “It’s like those magic lamps in fairy tales,” I told him. “You know. The kind you rub, and you get three wishes. And . . .”

  “No, Jesse!” I cried. “No—don’t! What are you doing? Don’t rub it! DON’T! DON’T RUB IT!”

  Too late.

  Are you ready for another walk down Fear Street?

  Turn the page for a terrifying sneak preview.

  SPELL OF THE

  SCREAMING JOKERS

  When Max finished dealing, we picked up our hands.

  “Have fun, kids!” Mrs. Davidson said, and she left the room.

  I studied my cards one at a time. Two of clubs. Six of hearts. Three of diamonds. Jack of clubs.

  A horrible scream split the air!

  I jumped.

  Frankie dropped his cards to the floor.

  “Frankie!” I exclaimed, startled. “What’s wrong?”

  Frankie’s eyes stared, wide open.

  His jaw dropped.

  And he let out the most horrifying scream I’d ever heard.

  “Frankie!” I cried out again. “What’s wrong! Tell us—what’s wrong!”

  Frankie turned to me—and the screaming stopped. Stopped suddenly, as if a knife sliced it off mid-scream.

  Mrs. Davidson ran into Max’s room. “What happened?” she cried. “Is someone hurt?”

  We shook our heads.

  “Who screamed?” she asked.

  “Frankie did,” Louisa told her.

  “No, I didn’t,” Frankie said.

  “Yes, you did!” Louisa exclaimed. “Your mouth was wide open. We all heard you. Screaming like a maniac.”

  “I wasn’t screaming,” Frankie said flatly.

  “Yeah, right,” I said. “You nearly burst my eardrums. You dropped your cards—then you started screaming.”

  “I . . . wasn’t . . . screaming,” Frankie said slowly. “I dropped my cards because of—because of the joker.”

  Frankie glanced under the table. I followed his gaze.

  There his cards lay—all facedown. All but one. All but the joker.

  The joker—it was like no joker we had ever seen.

  It had huge round eyes that bulged right out of their sockets. Hideous eyes! I felt as if they could see me!

  Its bright red lips curved up in a crooked, evil smile.

  It wore a floppy green cap with three silver bells on the top.

  In its hand, the joker held a stick. On the top of the stick sat a skull. A skull with eyes that glowed like hot coals!

  I started to turn away—when the joker’s face began to move!

  Its eyeballs darted left and right! First it peered at me. Then it glared at Louisa. Then Jeff.

  The joker’s eyeballs came to rest on Frankie. Its mouth twisted open—in a grin full of yellow, jagged teeth.

  The joker flapped its big ears. It rattled its stick—and the skull’s eyes flashed sparks!

  I stared in horror. I couldn’t speak.

  “What’s wrong?” Max’s mom asked. “What are you looking at?”

  At the sound of her voice, the joker’s ugly face froze.

  Had it really moved?

  Or had I imagined it?

  I glanced at my friends. Had they seen it move?

  I couldn’t tell. They were all staring at the door. At Max’s mom as she entered the room.

  Mrs. Davidson picked up the card. “What a horrible card!” she cried. She gathered up the other cards from the floor.

  “Let me have all the cards, kids,” she said. “I’ll check to make sure there aren’t any more jokers. How in the world did this terrible-looking thing get into the deck in the first place?”

  Max only shrugged as he handed his mom his cards. He didn’t seem very upset about the joker. Maybe his doctor told him not to get too excited—about anything.

  But I was plenty excited. My heart was racing!

  Frankie’s eyes met mine. His wide-open eyes—filled with fright now.

  I turned to Jeff. It was hard to tell if he was scared or not. He still had on his sunglasses.

  “That was horrible,” I said. I didn’t know whether I had seen the joker move or not. “That wasn’t a regular joker. No wonder you screamed.”

  “I told you—I didn’t scream,” Frankie said.

  “Come on, Frankie,” I said. “Just admit it. We all heard you. I bet the whole neighborhood heard you.”

  “I didn’t scream.” Frankie glared at me. “So quit saying I did.”

  “There. I’ve checked the deck. There aren’t any more ugly jokers,” Mrs. Davidson interrupted our argument.

  She handed the deck of cards to Max. “Remember, it’s good card manners to let someone cut the cards, Max.”

  Max began shuffling.

  “Um . . . you really still want to play?” I asked.

  Max shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Yes, but . . .” I began. I stopped. With the jokers out of the deck, I guess it was okay to play.

  We played hand after hand of Hearts. By the time the four of us left Max’s house, I saw clubs and diamonds, hearts and spades swimming before my eyes.

  And I still saw that ugly joker. Saw its evil grin. Saw it move.

  How could a single card be so frightening?

  How?

  “I wish we’d left earlier,” Louisa grumbled as we walked along Fear Street in the dark. “I hate this street at night.”

  “It seems like the streetlights are always broken here,” I complained. “I can’t see a thing!”

  “We could always cut through Mrs. Murder’s yard again,” Frankie suggested.

  “Fat chance,” I said. Then I heard something. “Hey, listen. What’s that?”

  I glanced in the direction of Mrs. Marder’s house. But it was too dark to see anything.

  “I hear something rattling,” Jeff whispered.

  Rattling—that was the sound I heard. Rattling—like someone shaking a can full of pebbles.

  “I hear it,” Louisa added. “Listen. It’s getting lo
uder.”

  My eyes searched the shadows along Fear Street.

  “Hey!” Frankie yelled suddenly. “Watch it, buddy!”

  I whirled around.

  I saw Frankie sprawled on the sidewalk.

  A small figure bent over him. Probably the kid who knocked him down. Now he was saying something to Frankie.

  “Frankie!” Louisa called. “Are you okay?”

  Frankie didn’t answer.

  The figure straightened up. He wasn’t very tall. He wore a green hat with a brim pulled down low over his forehead. I couldn’t make out his face under the brim. The only thing I could see clearly was the stick he held in his hand.

  I ran toward Frankie—and the shadowy figure rattled his stick fiercely. He let out a scream—and raced away into the darkness.

  “Frankie, are you okay?” I asked. “Who was that?”

  “I don’t know, some little kid,” Frankie groaned. “Boy, for a little kid he sure slammed into me hard!” Frankie rubbed his arm.

  The four of us walked close together as we made our way along Fear Street.

  “He said something weird,” Frankie began as we headed home. “It sounded like, ‘We shake the skull . . .’ No. That wasn’t it.”

  Frankie frowned, trying to remember. “I know. ‘We shake the skull with eyes that gleam.’ ”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Jeff said.

  Frankie shrugged. “That’s what it sounded like.”

  “That can’t be what he said. Maybe he said something like, ‘sorry to shake you up,’ ” Louisa suggested.

  “No. That’s not what he said.” Frankie sounded definite.

  That didn’t stop Louisa. “Maybe the skull part was about how he hoped you didn’t crack your skull.”

  Frankie groaned. “Louisa. Do me a favor. Stop guessing.”

  We didn’t talk the rest of the way to Frankie’s house. I had to admit, Louisa’s explanations were pretty lame.

  “Thanks,” he said before going inside. “And—I’m sorry about getting you guys in trouble.”

  By the porch light, I saw that Frankie was pretty scraped up.

  The side of his face was raw where he’d hit the pavement. And there was a strange, dark bruise above his wrist. It looked almost as if it were in the shape of a flower . . . or something.