by R. L. Stine
“What happened to him? Did he die?” Shari asked, still fiddling with the strand of hair.
Dr. Fredericks snickered. “No. Worse. I stole the invention from him. I stole the plans and the camera. I was evil, you see. I was young and greedy. So very greedy. And I wasn’t above stealing to make my fortune.”
He paused, eyeing them both as if waiting for them to say something, to offer their disapproval of him, perhaps. But when Greg and Shari remained silent, staring up at him from the low plywood table, he continued his story.
“When I stole the camera, it caught my partner by surprise. Unfortunately, from then on, all of the surprises were mine.” A strange, sad smile twisted across his aged face. “My partner, you see, was much more evil than I was.”
Dr. Fredericks coughed into his hand, then began to pace in front of Greg and Shari as he talked, speaking softly, slowly, as if remembering the story for the first time in a long while.
“My partner was a true evil one. He dabbled in the dark arts. I should correct myself. He didn’t just dabble. He was quite a master of it all.”
He held up the camera, waving it above his head, then lowering it. “My partner put a curse on the camera. If he couldn’t profit from it, he wanted to make sure that I never would, either. And so he put a curse on it.”
He turned his gaze on Greg, leaning over him. “Do you know about how some primitive peoples fear the camera? They fear the camera because they believe that if it takes their picture, it will steal their soul.” He patted the camera. “Well, this camera really does steal souls.”
Staring up at the camera, Greg shuddered.
The camera had stolen Shari away.
Would it have stolen all of their souls?
“People have died because of this camera,” Dr. Fredericks said, uttering a slow, sad sigh. “People close to me. That is how I came to learn of the curse, to learn of the camera’s evil. And then I learned something just as frightening—the camera cannot be destroyed.”
He coughed, cleared his throat noisily, and began to pace in front of them again. “And so I vowed to keep the camera a secret. To keep it away from people so it cannot do its evil. I lost my job. My family. I lost everything because of it. But I am determined to keep the camera where it can do no harm.”
He stopped pacing, with his back toward them. He stood silently, shoulders hunched, lost in thought.
Greg quickly climbed to his feet and motioned for Shari to do the same. “Well… uh… I guess it’s good we returned it,” he said hesitantly. “Sorry we caused so much trouble.”
“Yeah, we’re very sorry,” Shari repeated sincerely. “Guess it’s back in the right hands.”
“Good-bye,” Greg said, starting toward the steps. “It’s getting late, and we—”
“No!” Dr. Fredericks shouted, startling them both. He moved quickly to block the way. “I’m afraid you can’t go. You know too much.”
30
“I can never let you leave,” Dr. Fredericks said, his face flickering in the blue glow of a lightning flash. He crossed his bony arms in front of his black sweatshirt.
“But we won’t tell anyone,” Greg said, his voice rising until the words became a plea. “Really.”
“Your secret is good with us,” Shari insisted, her frightened eyes on Greg.
Dr. Fredericks stared at them menacingly but didn’t reply.
“You can trust us,” Greg said, his voice quavering. He cast a frightened glance at Shari.
“Besides,” Shari said, “even if we did tell anyone, who would believe us?”
“Enough talk,” Dr. Fredericks snapped. “It won’t do you any good. I’ve worked too long and too hard to keep the camera a secret.”
A rush of wind pushed against the windows, sending up a low howl. The wind carried a drumroll of rain. The sky through the basement windows was as black as night.
“You—can’t keep us here forever!” Shari cried, unable to keep the growing terror from her voice.
The rain pounded against the windows now, a steady downpour.
Dr. Fredericks drew himself up straight, seemed to grow taller. His tiny eyes burned into Shari’s. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice a whisper of regret. “So sorry. But I have no choice.”
He took another step toward them.
Greg and Shari exchanged frightened glances. From where they stood, in front of the low plywood table in the center of the basement, the steps seemed a hundred miles away.
“Wh-what are you going to do?” Greg cried, shouting over a burst of thunder that rattled the basement windows.
“Please!” Shari begged. “Don’t!”
Dr. Fredericks moved forward with surprising speed. Holding the camera in one hand, he grabbed Greg’s shoulder with the other.
“No!” Greg screamed. “Let go!”
“Let go of him!” Shari screamed.
She suddenly realized that both of Dr. Fredericks’ hands were occupied.
This may be my only chance, she thought.
She took a deep breath and lunged forward.
Dr. Fredericks’ eyes bulged, and he cried out in surprise as Shari grabbed the camera with both hands and pulled it away from him. He made a frantic grab for the camera, and Greg burst free.
Before the desperate man could take another step, Shari raised the camera to her eye and pointed the lens at him.
“Please—no! Don’t push the button!” the old man cried.
He lurched forward, his eyes wild, and grabbed the camera with both hands.
Greg stared in horror as Shari and Dr. Fredericks grappled, both holding on to the camera, each trying desperately to wrestle it away from the other.
FLASH!
The bright burst of light startled them all.
Shari grabbed the camera. “Run!” she screamed.
31
The basement became a whirring blur of grays and blacks as Greg hurtled himself toward the stairs.
He and Shari ran side by side, slipping over the food cartons, jumping over tin cans and empty bottles.
Rain thundered against the windows. The wind howled, pushing against the glass. They could hear Dr. Fredericks’ anguished screams behind them.
“Did it take our picture or his?” Shari asked.
“I don’t know. Just hurry!” Greg screamed.
The old man was howling like a wounded animal, his cries competing with the rain and wind pushing at the windows.
The stairs weren’t that far away. But it seemed to take forever to reach them.
Forever.
Forever, Greg thought. Dr. Fredericks wanted to keep Shari and me down there forever.
Panting loudly, they both reached the dark stairway. A deafening clap of thunder made them stop and turn around.
“Huh?” Greg cried aloud.
To his shock, Dr. Fredericks hadn’t chased after them.
And his anguished cries had stopped.
The basement was silent.
“What’s going on?” Shari cried breathlessly.
Squinting back into the darkness, it took Greg a while to realize that the dark, rumpled form lying on the floor in front of the worktable was Dr. Fredericks.
“What happened?” Shari cried, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Still clinging to the camera strap, she gaped in surprise at the old man’s still body, sprawled on its back on the floor.
“I don’t know,” Greg replied in a breathless whisper.
Reluctantly, Greg started back toward Dr. Fredericks. Following close behind, Shari uttered a low cry of horror when she clearly saw the fallen man’s face.
Eyes bulged out, the mouth open in a twisted O of terror, the face stared up at them. Frozen. Dead.
Dr. Fredericks was dead.
“What—happened?” Shari finally managed to say, swallowing hard, forcing herself to turn away from the ghastly, tortured face.
“I think he died of fright,” Greg replied, squeezing her shoulder and not even re
alizing it.
“Huh? Fright?”
“He knew better than anyone what the camera could do,” Greg said. “When you snapped his picture, I think… I think it scared him to death!”
“I only wanted to throw him off guard,” Shari cried. “I only wanted to give us a chance to escape. I didn’t think—”
“The picture,” Greg interrupted. “Let’s see the picture.”
Shari raised the camera. The photo was still half inside the camera. Greg pulled it out with a trembling hand. He held it up so they could both see it.
“Wow,” he exclaimed quietly. “Wow.”
The photo showed Dr. Fredericks lying on the floor, his eyes bulging, his mouth frozen open in horror.
Dr. Fredericks’ fright, Greg realized—the fright that had killed him—was there, frozen on film, frozen on his face.
The camera had claimed another victim. This time forever.
“What do we do now?” Shari asked, staring down at the figure sprawled at their feet.
“First, I’m putting this camera back,” Greg said, taking it from her and shoving it back on its shelf. He turned the vise handle, and the door to the secret compartment closed.
Greg breathed a sigh of relief. Hiding the dreadful camera away made him feel so much better.
“Now, let’s go home and call the police,” he said.
Two days later, a cool, bright day with a gentle breeze rustling the trees, the four friends stopped at the curb, leaning on their bikes, and stared up at the Coffman house. Even in bright sunlight, the old trees that surrounded the house covered it in shade.
“So you didn’t tell the police about the camera?” Bird asked, staring up at the dark, empty front window.
“No. They wouldn’t believe it,” Greg told him. “Besides, the camera should stay locked up forever. Forever! I hope no one ever finds out about it.”
“We told the police we ran into the house to get out of the rain,” Shari added. “And we said we started to explore while we waited for the storm to blow over. And we found the body in the basement.”
“What did Spidey die of?” Michael asked, gazing up at the house.
“The police said it was heart failure,” Greg told him. “But we know the truth.”
“Wow. I can’t believe one old camera could do so much evil,” Bird said.
“I believe it,” Greg said quietly.
“Let’s get out of here,” Michael urged. He raised his sneakers to the pedals and started to roll away. “This place really creeps me out.”
The other three followed, pedaling away in thoughtful silence.
They had turned the corner and were heading up the next block when two figures emerged from the back door of the Coffman house. Joey Ferris and Mickey Ward stepped over the weed-choked lawn onto the driveway.
“Those jerks aren’t too bright,” Joey told his companion. “They never even saw us the other day. Never saw us watching them through the basement window.”
Mickey laughed. “Yeah. They’re jerks.”
“They couldn’t hide this camera from us. No way, man,” Joey said. He raised the camera and examined it.
“Take my picture,” Mickey demanded. “Come on. Let’s try it out.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Joey raised the viewfinder to his eye. “Say cheese.”
A click. A flash. A whirring sound.
Joey pulled the snapshot from the camera, and both boys eagerly huddled around it, waiting to see what developed.
Scanning, formatting and
proofing by Undead.
