by R. L. Stine
“I’m not going to stop trying,” she said, gritting her teeth. “This camera has to open. It has to!”
“Give up. You’re going to wreck it,” Greg warned, reaching for it.
“Wreck it? How could I wreck it?” Shari demanded. “It has no moving parts. Nothing!”
“This is impossible,” Greg said.
Making a disgusted face, she handed the camera to him. “Okay, I give up. Check it out yourself, Greg.”
He took the camera, started to raise it to his face, then stopped.
Uttering a low cry of surprise, his mouth dropped open and his eyes gaped straight ahead. Startled, Shari turned to follow his shocked gaze.
“Oh, no!”
There on the ground, a few yards outside the first-base line, lay Bird. He was sprawled on his back, his neck bent at an odd and unnatural angle, his eyes shut tight.
13
“Bird!” Shari cried.
Greg’s breath caught in his throat. He felt as if he were choking. “Oh!” he finally managed to cry out in a shrill, raspy voice.
Bird didn’t move.
Shari and Greg, running side by side at full speed, reached him together.
“Bird?” Shari knelt down beside him. “Bird?”
Bird opened one eye. “Gotcha,” he said quietly. The weird half smile formed on his face, and he exploded in high-pitched laughter.
It took Shari and Greg a while to react. They both stood openmouthed, gaping at their laughing friend.
Then, his heart beginning to slow to normal, Greg reached down, grabbed Bird with both hands, and pulled him roughly to his feet.
“I’ll hold him while you hit him,” Greg offered, holding Bird from behind.
“Hey, wait—” Bird protested, struggling to squirm out of Greg’s grasp.
“Good plan,” Shari said, grinning.
“Ow! Hey—let go! Come on! Let go!” Bird protested, trying unsuccessfully to wrestle free. “Come on! What’s your problem? It was a joke, guys.”
“Very funny,” Shari said, giving Bird a playful punch on the shoulder. “You’re a riot, Bird.”
Bird finally freed himself with a hard tug and danced away from both of them. “I just wanted to show you how bogus it is to get all worked up about that dumb camera.”
“But, Bird—” Greg started.
“It’s just broken, that’s all,” Bird said, brushing blades of recently cut grass off his uniform pants. “You think because it showed Michael falling down those stairs, there’s something strange with it. But that’s dumb. Real dumb.”
“I know it,” Greg replied sharply. “But how do you explain it?”
“I told you, man. It’s wrecked. Broken. That’s it.”
“Bird—get over here!” a voice called, and Bird’s fielder’s glove came flying at his head. He caught it, waved with a grin to Shari and Greg, and jogged to the outfield along with the other members of the Dolphins.
Carrying the camera tightly in one hand, Greg led the way to the bleachers. He and Shari sat down on the end of the bottom bench.
Some of the spectators had lost interest in the game already and had left. A few kids had taken a baseball off the field and were having their own game of catch behind the bleachers. Across the playground, four or five kids were getting a game of kickball started.
“Bird is such a dork,” Greg said, his eyes on the game.
“He scared me to death,” Shari exclaimed. “I really thought he was hurt.”
“What a clown,” Greg muttered.
They watched the game in silence for a while. It wasn’t terribly interesting. The Dolphins were losing 12-3 going into the third inning. None of the players were very good.
Greg laughed as a Cardinal batter slugged a ball that sailed out to the field and right over Bird’s head.
“That’s the third ball that flew over his head!” Greg cried.
“Guess he lost it in the sun!” Shari exclaimed, joining in the laughter.
They both watched Bird’s long legs storking after the ball. By the time he managed to catch up with it and heave it toward the diamond, the Cardinal had already rounded the bases and scored.
There were loud boos from the bleachers.
The next Cardinal batter stepped to the plate. A few more kids climbed down from the bleachers, having seen enough.
“It’s so hot here in the sun,” Shari said, shielding her eyes with one hand. “And I’ve got lots of homework. Want to leave?”
“I just want to see the next inning,” Greg said, watching the batter swing and miss. “Bird is coming up next inning. I want to stay and boo him.”
“What are friends for?” Shari said sarcastically.
It took a long while for the Dolphins to get the third out. The Cardinals batted around their entire order.
Greg’s T-shirt was drenched with sweat by the time Bird came up to the plate in the top of the fourth.
Despite the loud booing from Shari and Greg, Bird managed to punch the ball past the shortstop for a single.
“Lucky hit!” Greg yelled, cupping his hands into a megaphone.
Bird pretended not to hear him. He tossed away his batter’s helmet, adjusted his cap, and took a short lead off first base.
The next batter swung at the first pitch and fouled it off.
“Let’s go,” Shari urged, pulling Greg’s arm. “It’s too hot. I’m dying of thirst.”
“Let’s just see if Bird—”
Greg didn’t finish his sentence.
The batter hit the next ball hard. It made a loud thunk as it left the bat.
A dozen people—players and spectators—cried out as the ball flew across the diamond, a sharp line drive, and slammed into the side of Bird’s head with another thunk.
Greg watched in horror as the ball bounced off Bird and dribbled away onto the infield grass. Bird’s eyes went wide with disbelief, confusion.
He stood frozen in place on the base path for a long moment.
Then both of his hands shot up above his head, and he uttered a shrill cry, long and loud, like the high-pitched whinny of a horse.
His eyes rolled up in his head. He sank to his knees and uttered another cry, softer this time. Then he collapsed, sprawling onto his back, his neck at an unnatural angle, his eyes closed.
He didn’t move.
14
In seconds, the two coaches and both teams were running out to the fallen player, huddling over him, forming a tight, hushed circle around him.
Crying “Bird! Bird!” Shari leaped off the bleachers and began running to the circle of horrified onlookers.
Greg started to follow but stopped when he saw a familiar figure crossing the street at a full run, waving to him.
“Terry!” Greg cried.
Why was his brother coming to the playground? Why wasn’t he at his after-school job at the Dairy Freeze?
“Terry? What’s happening?” Greg cried.
Terry stopped, gasping for breath, sweat pouring down his bright red forehead. “I… ran… all… the… way,” he managed to utter.
“Terry, what’s wrong?” A sick feeling crept up from Greg’s stomach.
As Terry approached, his face held the same frightened expression as in the photograph Greg had snapped of him.
The same frightened expression. With the same house behind him across the street.
The snapshot had come true. Just as the snapshot of Bird lying on the ground had come true.
Greg’s throat suddenly felt as dry as cotton. He realized that his knees were trembling.
“Terry, what is it?” he managed to cry.
“It’s Dad,” Terry said, putting a heavy hand on Greg’s shoulder.
“Huh? Dad?”
“You’ve got to come home, Greg. Dad—he’s been in a bad accident.”
“An accident?” Greg’s head spun. Terry’s words weren’t making any sense to him.
“In the new car,” Terry explained, again placing a heavy hand on Greg’s
trembling shoulder. “The new car is totaled. Completely totaled.”
“Oh,” Greg gasped, feeling weak.
Terry squeezed his shoulder. “Come on. Hurry.”
Holding the camera tightly in one hand, Greg began running after his brother.
Reaching the street, he turned back to the playground to see what was happening with Bird.
A large crowd was still huddled around Bird, blocking him from sight.
But—what was that dark shadow behind the bleachers? Greg wondered.
Someone—someone all in black—was hiding back there.
Watching Greg?
“Come on!” Terry urged.
Greg stared hard at the bleachers. The dark figure pulled back out of sight.
“Come on, Greg!”
“I’m coming!” Greg shouted, and followed his brother toward home.
15
The hospital walls were pale green. The uniforms worn by the nurses scurrying through the brightly lit corridors were white. The floor tiles beneath Greg’s feet, as he hurried with his brother toward their father’s room, were dark brown with orange specks.
Colors.
All Greg could see were blurs of colors, indistinct shapes.
His sneakers thudded noisily against the hard tile floor. He could barely hear them over the pounding of his heart.
Totaled. The car had been totaled.
Just like in the snapshot.
Greg and Terry turned a corner. The walls in this corridor were pale yellow. Terry’s cheeks were red. Two doctors passed by wearing lime-green surgical gowns.
Colors. Only colors.
Greg blinked, tried to see clearly. But it was all passing by too fast, all too unreal. Even the sharp hospital smell, that unique aroma of rubbing alcohol, stale food, and disinfectant, couldn’t make it real for him.
Then the two brothers entered their father’s room, and it all became real.
The colors faded. The images became sharp and clear.
Their mother jumped up from the folding chair beside the bed. “Hi, boys.” She clenched a wadded-up tissue in her hand. It was obvious that she had been crying. She forced a tight smile on her face, but her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks pale and puffy.
Stopping just inside the doorway of the small room, Greg returned his mother’s greeting in a soft, choked voice. Then his eyes, focusing clearly now, turned to his father.
Mr. Banks had a mummylike bandage covering his hair. One arm was in a cast. The other lay at his side and had a tube attached just above the wrist, dripping a dark liquid into the arm. The bedsheet was pulled up to his chest.
“Hey—how’s it going, guys?” their father asked. His voice sounded fogged in, as if coming from far away.
“Dad—” Terry started.
“He’s going to be okay,” Mrs. Banks interrupted, seeing the frightened looks on her sons’ faces.
“I feel great,” Mr. Banks said groggily.
“You don’t look so great,” Greg blurted out, stepping up cautiously to the bed.
“I’m okay. Really,” their father insisted. “A few broken bones. That’s it.” He sighed, then winced from pain. “I guess I’m lucky.”
“You’re very lucky,” Mrs. Banks agreed quickly.
What’s the lucky part? Greg wondered silently to himself. He couldn’t take his eyes off the tube stuck into his father’s arm.
Again, he thought of the snapshot of the car. It was up in his room at home, tucked into the secret compartment in his headboard.
The snapshot showing the car totaled, the driver’s side caved in.
Should he tell them about it?
He couldn’t decide.
Would they believe him if he did tell them?
“What’d you break, Dad?” Terry asked, sitting down on the radiator in front of the windowsill, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.
“Your father broke his arm and a few ribs,” Mrs. Banks answered quickly. “And he had a slight concussion. The doctors are watching him for internal injuries. But so far, so good.”
“I was lucky,” Mr. Banks repeated. He smiled at Greg.
“Dad, I have to tell you about this photo I took,” Greg said suddenly, speaking rapidly, his voice trembling with nervousness. “I took a picture of the new car, and—”
“The car is completely wrecked,” Mrs. Banks interrupted. Sitting on the edge of the folding chair, she rubbed her fingers, working her wedding ring around and around, something she always did when she was nervous. “I’m glad you boys didn’t see it.” Her voice caught in her throat. Then she added, “It’s a miracle he wasn’t hurt any worse.”
“This photo—” Greg started again.
“Later,” his mother said brusquely. “Okay?” She gave him a meaningful stare.
Greg felt his face grow hot.
This is important, he thought.
Then he decided they probably wouldn’t believe him, anyway. Who would believe such a crazy story?
“Will we be able to get another new car?” Terry asked.
Mr. Banks nodded carefully. “I have to call the insurance company,” he said.
“I’ll call them when I get home,” Mrs. Banks said. “You don’t exactly have a hand free.”
Everyone laughed at that, nervous laughter.
“I feel kind of sleepy,” Mr. Banks said. His eyes were halfway closed, his voice muffled.
“It’s the painkillers the doctors gave you,” Mrs. Banks told him. She leaned forward and patted his hand. “Get some sleep. I’ll come back in a few hours.”
She stood up, still fiddling with her wedding band, and motioned with her head toward the door.
“Bye, Dad,” Greg and Terry said in unison.
Their father muttered a reply. They followed their mother out the door.
“What happened?” Terry asked, as they made their way past a nurses’ station, then down the long, pale yellow corridor. “I mean, the accident.”
“Some guy ran right through a red light,” Mrs. Banks said, her red-rimmed eyes focused straight ahead. “He plowed right into your father’s side of the car. Said his brakes weren’t working.” She shook her head, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said, sighing. “I just don’t know what to say. Thank goodness he’s going to be okay.”
They turned into the green corridor, walking side by side. Several people were waiting patiently for the elevator at the far end of the hall.
Once again, Greg found himself thinking of the snapshots he had taken with the weird camera.
First Michael. Then Terry. Then Bird. Then his father.
All four photos had shown something terrible. Something terrible that hadn’t happened yet.
And then all four photos had come true.
Greg felt a chill as the elevator doors opened and the small crowd of people moved forward to squeeze inside.
What’s the truth about the camera? he wondered.
Does the camera show the future?
Or does it actually cause bad things to happen?
16
“Yeah. I know Bird’s okay,” Greg said into the phone receiver. “I saw him yesterday, remember? He was lucky. Real lucky. He didn’t have a concussion or anything.”
On the other end of the line—in the house next door—Shari agreed, then repeated her request.
“No, Shari. I really don’t want to,” Greg replied vehemently.
“Bring it,” Shari demanded. “It’s my birthday.”
“I don’t want to bring the camera. It’s not a good idea. Really,” Greg told her.
It was the next weekend. Saturday afternoon. Greg had been nearly out the door, on his way to Shari’s birthday party, when the phone rang.
“Hi, Greg. Why aren’t you on your way to my party?” Shari had asked when he’d run to pick up the receiver.
“Because I’m on the phone with you,” Greg had replied drily.
“Well, bring the camera, okay?”
&nb
sp; Greg hadn’t looked at the camera, hadn’t removed it from its hiding place since his father’s accident.
“I don’t want to bring it,” he insisted, despite Shari’s high-pitched demands. “Don’t you understand, Shari? I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
“Oh, Greg,” she said, talking to him as if he were a three-year-old. “You don’t really believe that, do you? You don’t really believe that camera can hurt people.”
Greg was silent for a moment. “I don’t know what I believe,” he said finally. “I only know that first, Michael, then, Bird—”
Greg swallowed hard. “And I had a dream, Shari. Last night.”
“Huh? What kind of dream?” Shari asked impatiently.
“It was about the camera. I was taking everyone’s picture. My whole family—Mom, Dad, and Terry. They were barbecuing. In the backyard. I held up the camera. I kept saying, ‘Say cheese, say cheese,’ over and over. And when I looked through the viewfinder, they were smiling back at me—but… they were skeletons. All of them. Their skin was gone, and—and…”
Greg’s voice trailed off.
“What a dumb dream,” Shari said, laughing.
“But that’s why I don’t want to bring the camera,” Greg insisted. “I think—”
“Bring it, Greg,” she interrupted. “It’s not your camera, you know. All four of us were in the Coffman house. It belongs to all four of us. Bring it.”
“But why, Shari?” Greg demanded.
“It’ll be a goof, that’s all. It takes such weird pictures.”
“That’s for sure,” Greg muttered.
“We don’t have anything else to do for my party,” Shari told him. “I wanted to rent a video, but my mom says we have to go outdoors. She doesn’t want her precious house messed up. So I thought we could take everyone’s picture with the weird camera. You know. See what strange things come out.”
“Shari, I really don’t—”
“Bring it,” she ordered. And hung up.
Greg stood for a long time staring at the phone receiver, thinking hard, trying to decide what to do.
Then he replaced the receiver and headed reluctantly up to his room.
