by Bill Harley
“I’ll wear my raincoat.” I didn’t want to carry an umbrella around. It seemed dorky.
“You can share mine,” the Squid said.
“No thanks,” I said. Her umbrella was bright yellow and had rainbows and pink frogs all over it.
“You’ll get wet,” she said.
“I love getting wet,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We said goodbye to Mom and went out the front door.
As soon as we started down the steps, the wind smacked us in the face.
“I can’t hold my umbrella,” the Squid said. “It’s blowing away.”
“Here,” I said, taking it from her. “I’ll help.” I held it over her head and we hurried toward the corner. There I was, holding a dumb yellow umbrella with rainbows and pink frogs all over it—exactly what I did not want to do. What a bozo.
By the time we got to the bus stop, the wind was blowing even harder and whipping the umbrella around.
“You have to hold it better,” the Squid said. “I’m getting wet.”
“I’m trying, Mabel,” I said. “I’m not your servant, you know.”
“But I’m getting really wet!” she whined.
Then, an enormous gust of wind pulled on the umbrella and turned it inside out. It was all I could do to hold on so it wouldn’t blow away.
“It’s broken!” the Squid squealed.
“No, it’s not. I can fix it.” I pulled on the little metal spokes to get it back the way it was supposed to be. Then I heard something rip. Once I got it the right way around, I could see there was a rip all the way down one side of the umbrella.
Boogers.
“It’s ruined!” I could see that the Squid was about to start crying. We were both getting drenched.
“I’m sorry, Mabel.”
“It’s my favorite umbrella!” she said.
It was her only umbrella, so of course it was her favorite. I didn’t point that out. When the Squid is screaming, you can’t really explain anything.
A few other kids showed up. Danny Fujita, who lives down the block, looked at the umbrella. It was ripped and ragged, and the wind nearly pulled it out of my hands again.
“Wow,” he said. “It looks like a bat wing flapping around.”
“It’s not a bat,” Mabel said. “It’s an umbrella, and Charlie broke it.”
“I did not!”
“Yes, you did. And it was my favorite.”
I told her that Mom would know where to get another one just like this one but brand new. The Squid calmed down a little and then the bus came. She didn’t want her favorite umbrella anymore, so I had to carry it. We got on the bus, both of us dripping and me holding a broken yellow umbrella with rainbows and pink frogs on it.
The Squid sat in the front of the bus and I headed toward the back, where I usually sit. When Tommy got on, he sat next to me.
“Is that your umbrella?” he asked. I could tell by the way he looked at it he was wondering why I was holding a yellow umbrella covered with rainbows and pink frogs.
“No,” I said. “It’s Mabel’s. It ripped and now she doesn’t want it. Look,” I said, opening it up. “Doesn’t it kind of look like a bat wing?”
“Yeah,” said Tommy. “Or it could be a vampire wing, except for the color. And the rainbows. And the pink frogs.”
That’s when it hit me—the answer to all my problems.
Well, at least one of them.
“Yes!” I stood up and punched my fist in the air.
“What?”
“You’re a genius! No, I’m a genius! We’re both geniuses!”
“What are you talking about?” Tommy asked.
“I know what to be for Halloween! Look at this!”
I held out one arm with the ripped umbrella hanging underneath it. When I moved my arm up and down, the cloth and spokes folded and unfolded.
“It’s a wing! See? I’ll get my mom to sew these on a jacket or something and they’ll look just like bat wings. I’ll be a bat!”
“Outrageous!” Tommy said.
“Spectacular!” I said.
“Spectageous!” Tommy said.
“Super spectageous,” I answered.
“But are you really going to be a bat with yellow wings that have rainbows and pink frogs on them?”
I laughed. “No. I’ll just have to ruin another umbrella. I could win the costume contest at school with this idea.”
“Stupific!” Tommy said.
“Hey, back there!” the bus driver called to us. “Sit down and be quiet!”
We did. But I was happy.
Deciding to be a bat is a great way to start any school day.
I had the costume on my mind all day long. My mom is good at making clothes and stuff and I figured it would be easy for her to make a bat costume for me. She can do just about anything.
I thought.
That night when I explained to my mom about the costume I wanted her to make, she just rested her head on her hand. I could tell she was trying to listen—her forehead wrinkled up like she was thinking—but she looked really tired.
“Hmm,” she said finally. “That sounds kind of difficult to do, Charlie. Maybe we could find something a little easier.”
“But, Mom,” I pleaded, “this is a really good idea. I might be able to win the prize with—”
“It is a good idea,” she said. “But tonight I have to fill out all these forms for work.”
“But, Mom, what about my costume?” I asked. “We’ll see,” she said.
Not a good sign. She hoped I would forget.
It looked like I might have to make the costume myself.
9
The Long-Fingered Man
The next day was Friday.
Only one week until Halloween, and still no costume!
Everybody in class talked about what they were going to wear. Sam Marchand told me about some kid who was going as a rhinoceros, which sounded like a winner. But I knew my idea was great, if I could only figure out how to do it.
I could have done something easier.
But I wanted to be a bat.
That night, our family played a board game together and watched a movie and then it was time for bed. After Mom and Dad said good night, I turned off the lamp on my bedside table and snuggled down under the covers. Ginger curled up right by my bed like she usually did.
Just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard my door creak open. Someone came over to my bed and grabbed my shoulder.
I kept my eyes shut.
“Hey,” Matt said.
“What is it?” I said.
“Are you ready?”
“For what?”
“Your first de-scaring. We only have a week to get this done.”
I wasn’t sure I really wanted to be de-scared right then. “Maybe tomorrow morning,” I said.
“No,” Matt said. “You can’t do it during the daytime. You have to do it at night when it’s already a little bit scary.”
“I’m kind of tired,” I said, sitting up in my bed. “Will it take long?”
“Not tonight,” he said. “We’ll just start off with a shorter, slightly scary story. They’ll get scarier and longer as the week goes on, until finally they’re absolutely bloodcurdling and terrifying.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, but maybe by then I would be de-scared enough not to care.
“Okay,” I said. I reached over and turned on my lamp.
Matt switched it off again. “We need it nice and dark.”
“Then I want Ginger up here on the bed to protect me.”
“No!” Matt hissed. “You have to be alone for it to work!”
I lay back and pulled the covers up to my ears. “Okay,” I said. “I’m ready, but hurry. And don’t wake me up completely, or I’ll have trouble falling asleep.”
“All right,” Matt said. “Here we go.” He slid closer to me on the bed and lowered his voice. “Many years ago, there was this guy who lived over on Fernglade, and
he—”
“Fernglade?” I said. “I know where that is. It’s just a couple of blocks over, close to Tommy’s.”
“Exactly. That’s where this happened. This guy lived all by himself and he never came out of his house unless he absolutely had to, because—”
“Wait,” I said. I was really awake now. “Is this true? Are you just making this up?”
“Yes, it’s true.”
“Really?”
“Yes, the house is still there. It’s painted white now, but when he lived in it, it was painted all black.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said.
He shrugged. “All right. But you’d be a lot better off if you knew about this house in case you walk over there. Want me to go on?”
“Okay,” I said, “but don’t make it too much scarier.”
“I’m just telling you what happened. So, there was this guy who lived all alone in the big black house and almost never came out. He was really, really thin. So thin that if he stood sideways he almost disappeared. You’d barely notice he was there, and he could sneak up on people without them—”
“Wait,” I said. “I thought you said he never went outside.”
“I said ‘almost never.’ And anyway, no one ever saw him go outside because he was so thin. And he was really quiet, too.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, who was this guy?”
“I’ll tell you if you’ll just listen. His name was Simon Purslip.”
“That’s a weird name.”
“He was a very weird guy. The most important thing about him was his hands. You see, they were not normal …”
Matt stopped talking. The room was dark but the door was open a little and some light from the hall was shining through the crack. I looked around for Ginger but couldn’t see her. Matt was holding up his hands and slowly waggling his fingers. I wanted to shut my eyes, but I couldn’t help looking. “Instead of five fingers on each hand,” he whispered, “Simon Purslip had six, and his index fingers were really long.”
“How long?” I whispered.
He held up his index fingers and moved them back and forth in front of my face. “A foot long. Twelve long inches. And he would slide up to someone, ever so quietly, and he would take those long fingers and he would … WRAP THEM AROUND YOUR NECK!”
Matt reached over and grabbed ahold of my neck like he was going to strangle me.
“AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!” I screamed.
I jerked up, my heart pounding out of my chest, and knocked Matt off the bed. He hit his head against my nightstand and landed on the floor with a big thump. Ginger started barking.
“OWWW!” Matt yelled, but then he started to laugh. “You should have seen the look on your face!”
“It’s not funny!” I screeched.
The overhead light switched on. Dad was standing in the doorway. I was sitting up in bed clutching my pillow and Matt was rolling around on the floor, holding his head and laughing. Ginger was still barking.
“What in the name of Pete are you two goofballs doing?” Dad asked.
Neither of us answered. My brother was still crouched face-down on the floor, rocking back and forth, moaning and laughing at the same time.
“Matt, get out of Charlie’s room and let him sleep. And Charlie, quit beating up your older brother. It’s not nice.”
“I’m not beating him up,” I said. “He hit his head.”
“Whatever,” Dad said. “No more funny stuff or you’re both in big trouble.” Then he turned off the light and left.
Matt got up. Ginger came over and licked my face.
“I didn’t like that,” I said in the dark.
“Wait until tomorrow night,” he said, still holding his head. “It will be even scarier.”
10
Completely Creepy
When my mom hung up, she didn’t look happy. I had been standing there for a long time, waiting for her to get off the phone. “Mom, can you help me with my costume?”
“What?” she asked, like she hadn’t heard me.
“My costume! I told you about making me a bat costume. We only have a few days left until Halloween.”
She shook her head. “Charlie, I don’t know how much time I’ll have. The agency just called and they’re short on nurses. I’m going to have to work a couple of weeknights this week, and probably next weekend.”
“On Halloween?”
“I hope not, but I can’t promise anything.”
“What about my costume?” I asked.
“Maybe we could pick something up at the store. Wouldn’t you like that?”
When I was little I used to pester my mom about getting a costume from the store because I thought they were cooler. But not now. I would never win the contest with a store-bought costume.
“But you’re going to help Mabel with hers,” I said.
“Yes.” I could tell by the frown on her face that she was feeling bad. “But that’s easy. Making a bunch of grapes is just attaching purple balloons to a purple turtleneck. Your costume sounds kind of complicated.”
“But, Mom!” I whined.
“I don’t know, Charlie. I’ll try to find some time. We’ll see.”
There was that answer again. We’ll see.
“Okay,” I said in a way to let her know that it wasn’t okay.
That night, Matt snuck into my room again and perched on the edge of my bed, holding a flashlight. He turned it on and shone it under his face, which made him look completely creepy. “Time for the next chapter in ‘Simon Purslip, the Long-Fingered Man,’” he said, speaking in a low, raspy voice.
“No thanks,” I said. “I don’t think this—”
“Come on,” he said. “Don’t give up so soon. It just takes a little time. That was a good start last night, but you didn’t even really hear the story. You freaked out before I could finish it.”
“Okay,” I muttered. “But no wrapping your hands around my neck.”
“But that’s what the Long-Fingered Man does,” Matt said. “It’s part of the story.”
“Just tell me, don’t do it. And turn off the flashlight.”
“Sorry, it’s part of the de-scaring process,” Matt said. “Are you ready?”
“Sort of,” I said.
“I told you that Simon Purslip lived alone. But he didn’t always. Once, he was normal. He was married and he had a son. And he had a good job, working for a secret government organization that tracked bad guys.”
“Was he skinny then?”
“No,” Matt said. “Let me tell the story.”
Ginger got up and walked out of the room. I guess she wanted to sleep.
“So,” Matt went on, “one day his wife and his son, who was nine years old, went missing. One of the bad guys had kidnapped them. Simon asked the government people to look for them, but they wouldn’t help. After a while, he quit his job. He began to get really weird and stayed in the house a lot. He got angrier and angrier, but in a quiet way.”
I thought the idea of being angry in a quiet way was really disturbing. Who knew what an angry quiet guy might do?
Matt leaned really close to me. “Then, people started seeing him out at night, walking up and down the streets, like he was looking for someone.”
I was definitely getting freaked out. “Is this almost over?” I asked again.
Matt moved the flashlight a little closer to his chin. “Not long after that,” he whispered, “strange things started happening. This kid who was exactly nine years old was walking his dog one night, and just when he least expected it … AAAAAHHHH!”
Matt yelled really loud—right in my face.
I screamed bloody murder. “AAAAAAHHH!”
Matt started laughing. Ginger bounded in and started barking.
My heart was beating like crazy. “I didn’t know you were going to yell so loud,” I said. “That wasn’t funny!”
“It wasn’t supposed to be funny. It was supposed to scare your pajamas off. Mission accomplishe
d. You’re almost cured.”
Then he got up and walked out before Mom or Dad could catch him.
Stupid older brothers. I really couldn’t tell if Matt was de-scaring me or just enjoying himself. I made Ginger get on the bed with me, then settled back on my pillow and shut my eyes tight. I hoped I wouldn’t dream about the Long-Fingered Man. Or the Shrieking Skull. Or even the squeaking skull.
Or all of them together in one dream. Yikes.
11
She Loves Weird Stuff
On the way into school Monday morning, I talked to Tommy about my costume. “I’ve got this great idea, but I don’t think my mom is going to help me.”
“Bummer,” said Tommy.
“Is your mom going to let you glue hair on your face?”
“I hope so,” Tommy said. “But I might have to do it by myself.”
I nodded. Moms usually didn’t glue hair on their children’s faces. Or make bat wings.
“I can’t do the bat wings myself,” I said. “I need someone who doesn’t mind doing weird stuff and is good with costumes and things like that.”
“You need a weird grown-up,” Tommy agreed.
As soon as he said that, I knew who to ask. I looked at Tommy. His eyes were open wide and he had a big smile on his face. I could tell he was thinking the same thing. We both said it at the same time.
“Ms. Bromley!”
“Yeah!” Tommy said. “She’ll help you.”
“Fabulous!”
“Tremendous!” Tommy cackled.
“Tremabulous!” I said. “I’ll ask her after lunch. She always hangs out in the art room during her free time.”
“Stupific!” Tommy said.
I found Ms. Bromley sitting on the floor of her art room, surrounded by ripped-up pieces of paper. She seemed to be making some kind of collage. She was wearing these crazy tights—one leg was striped green and yellow and the other one was red with big black dots all over it. Her hair was pulled up in one big bunch so it looked like she had a purple fountain on top of her head.
Bizarro.
“Hey, Bumpers!” she said. Then she went back to gluing the scraps of paper onto a big poster.
“Ms. Bromley, could you help me? I have this great idea for a Halloween costume, but I don’t know how to make it.”
