The Dreadful Future of Blossom Culp

by Richard Peck

  Alexander, who’ll agree to anything, nodded. “A Haunted House will show the whole high school there are no flies on the freshman class.”

  “We can charge a dime admission fee as a fund raiser,” smug Letty said. “It will be the best event in the Halloween Festival.”

  The organ music swelled up to several crescendos, so I was fighting to hear every word there for a while.

  “. . . A dungeon, naturally,” said Letty, “. . . with rubber hose for snakes. A skeleton for one of the closets would be a nice touch. . . .” Et cetera.

  Then while I could hear nothing but organ music, they began to elbow one another.

  “. . . Absolutely not,” Letty whined. “You will have to talk her into it, Alexander. She positively turns my stomach.”

  “Count me out,” said Alexander firmly. “I’ve dropped Blossom like a bad habit. I’m not speaking to her again. Ever.”

  But Letty worked her little shoulder nearer Alexander. She reached up and tickled his ear, which went its reddest. “You must make the sacrifice,” she said, “in the name of freshman class unity. It’s your duty, Alexander, though heaven knows I realize how repulsive and pushy Blossom is.”

  Next to me Daisy-Rae was making a nasty gesture at Letty’s back with one of her fingers. Even Roderick’s drooling mouth seemed especially turned down in disgust.

  I was spared more of this insulting conversation as the lights went out and the picture began.

  At first a public notice was flashed up on the screen:

  IF YOU EXPECT TO RATE AS A GENTLEMAN YOU WILL NOT EXPECTORATE ON THE FLOOR

  Behind us a camera began to grind. Onto the screen flickered the next message:

  MISS PEARL WHITE

  in the ninth episode of

  THE PERILS OF PAULINE

  Daisy-Rae nudged me hard. “Which is her name, Pearl or Pauline?”

  “Just hush up a minute,” I whispered, “and you’ll get the hang of it.”

  “Quiet behind, please,” spoke Alexander from the seat ahead.

  The whole civilized world knows that in each episode of The Perils of Pauline, Pearl White as Pauline defies death and lives to tell the tale. They even flash words on the screen to explain the story, though that’s of little use to Roderick.

  In Episode Nine, Pauline is fleeing from cannibals down a beach. They’re gaining on her, and poor Pauline is about winded. She looks back a lot and runs to beat the band.

  Daisy-Rae’s fingers closed tight on my arm. Roderick was on the edge of his seat.

  The words

  PAULINE FLEES INTO THE SURF

  flashed on the screen.

  She’s knee-deep in ocean waves, and the cannibals’ spears are flying all around her. Daisy-Rae flinched, and Roderick bobbed and weaved. “She’s a goner for sure,” Daisy-Rae whispered. But Alexander up ahead didn’t shush her this time. Now his arm was creeping around Letty’s little shoulders.

  Up on the screen Pauline is searching the sea, looking for help.

  HELP IS ON THE WAY

  Sure enough, out of the sky swoops a hydroplane, a double-winged job skimming the waves.

  “Where’d that thing come from?” breathes Daisy-Rae.

  Pauline plunges into deep water and begins swimming like a fish. Roderick seemed to be swimming in his seat, throwing his arms around.

  A SAFE HAVEN, OR IS IT?

  Though the cannibal spears are still whizzing around her, Pauline makes it to the hydroplane and pulls herself up on the wing.

  As she staggers into the rear seat, the pilot raises his goggles and grins evilly back at her. He has a slick little mustache and mean eyes.

  “I wouldn’t trust that dude for a minute,” Daisy-Rae remarks, “but I reckon Pauline don’t have much choice.”

  The hydroplane soars into the air, leaving the cannibals behind. Roderick swoops in his seat, turning his arms into hydroplane wings. Alexander begins to nuzzle Letty’s neck.

  Of course, the hydroplane pilot is Pauline’s worst enemy, a two-timer who has deceived her in love.

  Since she has already resisted his advances in Episode Eight . . .

  HE TAKES HIS REVENGE

  The two-timing pilot lights up a cigarette and flicks away the match, which lands on one of the wings.

  “Watch out,” Daisy-Rae warns. Roderick is all eyes.

  The wing smolders and bursts into flames. Pauline sees and clutches her throat. So does Daisy-Rae. The hydroplane begins to wobble. Roderick falls out of his seat but climbs right back into it.

  The cowardly pilot stands up, and lo and behold, he’s wearing a parachute. In a single bound he jumps from the blazing plane, leaving Pauline defenseless.

  CAN PAULINE ESCAPE HER FATE?

  “I don’t see how!” roars out Daisy-Rae, answering the screen. Roderick is up on the arm of his chair now, riding it like a horse and drooling overtime.

  “What a noisy bunch of rough types behind us,” Letty remarks to Alexander. “Somebody ought to call the usher and have them thrown out.”

  The hydroplane goes into a dive. Pauline is trapped in the back seat without a parachute. For some reason, she’s now wearing a chiffon scarf, which is blowing far out behind her.

  The organ swells up with the sound of a screaming hydroplane, more or less. The ocean looms near as Pauline and her plane go into a spin.

  It’s too much for Daisy-Rae. There’s no point in trying to tell her it’s only a show and not real. She comes up out of her seat, shrieking, “THERE AIN’T A MINUTE TO LOSE. SOMEBODY DO SOMETHUN TO HELP THAT PORE GIRL.”

  Daisy-Rae’s flailing elbows accidentally clip the back of Letty’s little curly head a nasty whack. Knocked half out of her seat, Letty says, “This is too much. Alert the usher, Alexander.”

  He begins to look back—my way. Things are happening so fast now I can hardly think. Besides, Daisy-Rae is hysterical beside me, which is distracting.

  As it happens, Roderick, who’s brighter than he looks, goes into action.

  Just before Alexander turns and sees me behind him, Roderick reaches down into the bib of his little overalls. He draws up one of his mice. A nice plump one with a long gray tail and white whiskers.

  Quick as a wink, he reaches forward and drops the rodent down the back of Letty’s blouse.

  “Oh, Alexander!” she says, striking out at him coyly. “Stop that this minute!”

  Alexander throws up both his hands innocently. Then he notices the lump in Letty’s blouse. Trapped under that taffeta, the mouse is trying to make its way over Letty’s shoulder to freedom. Alexander’s eyes grow wide at this moving lump climbing around under Letty’s cap sleeve.

  Continuing its trip, the mouse seems to lose its footing and falls forward, tumbling into Letty’s small bosom.

  She looks down, but all I see are the little quivering curls on the back of her head. Then she looks up at Alexander’s two free hands. Then the mouse must have started clawing around down in her front.

  Letty’s plump little fists reach for the sky and grab air. She goes off like a Roman candle.

  “SOMEBODY SAVE ME,” she whoops. “I AM INFESTED.” She flies straight out of her chair, clears the row ahead of her, and lands in a heap by the movie screen.

  There she does a kind of native dance on her back. Both her hands are jammed down her neckline, and the buttons on her blouse are popping like corn. The audience comes to its feet for a better view, and several applaud.

  The organ swells up with variations on “Oh! You Beautiful Doll,” and on the screen it says:

  RETURN TO THIS THEATER NEXT WEEK

  For the THRILLING CONCLUSION

  “Let’s git while we can.” I elbow Daisy-Rae into action. Us three scramble out of our seats and up the aisle.

  But I chance a backward glance, and my heart sinks. There’s Alexander standing in his row with his hands on his hips in a disgusted pose, looking daggers right at me.

  8

  NEXT WEEK AT THE HIGH SCHOOL, word of the upc
oming Halloween Festival was on every tongue. The halls were decorated with orange and black streamers and twisted crepe paper. All in all, the mood of the place was more festive than my own.

  You could learn of each fund raiser class project by reading the various bulletin boards down the main hall, which I did. The seniors were giving a costume ball with a live band at the hotel downtown. The juniors, trying to copy the seniors, were also giving a dance, but in the gym. The sophomores were planning a wienie roast and hayride.

  I came at last to a ladder with Tess and Bess, the Beasley twins, on it. They were tacking up the freshman fund raiser poster. I supposed this was their job as sergeants at arms.

  The poster, decorated with several jack-o’-lanterns and black cats, read:

  FRESHMAN CLASS HAUNTED HOUSE

  Enter If You Dare

  and

  Have the Living Daylights Scared Out of You

  Experience: the dank dungeon and the bat-filled attic

  Hear: clanking chains and unexplained sobs

  See and Touch: the ghastly remains of former victims

  Also: spiders, snakes, and other attractions

  Many Will Enter, but Few Will Survive

  Admission 10¢ as a charitable contribution

  signed, Letty Shambaugh,

  Freshman Class President

  While I was reading this corn-fed poster, Tess and Bess with tack hammers in their hands looked down from their ladder.

  “Why, good morning, Blossom honey,” they said in chorus. They often try to speak together like a tuneless duet. I looked up in surprise, as I’m not used to being spoken to by members of Letty’s club.

  “Isn’t a Haunted House the cleverest idea you ever heard of?” said Tess or Bess.

  “We’ll be scared to death, literally,” the other one said.

  That would be no great loss, I thought. Wandering on, I smelled a rat, as I often do.

  As I entered homeroom, Miss Blankenship was lettering her daily message from Hamlet on the board:

  TO BE OR NOT TO BE:

  THAT IS THE QUESTION

  Act III

  Halloween or not, Miss Blankenship is always business as usual. Letty was absent. It was Wednesday, and she’d been absent all week, no doubt suffering the lingering effects of mouse infestation.

  But Alexander soon entered. He strode down the aisle with shoulders squared. His ears were hardly pink, and his hair was slicked down with Vitalis hair preparation. As I have mentioned, he is not a bad-looking kid.

  “Good morning, Blossom.” He nodded civilly.

  I flinched. Alexander slipped into his desk chair, arranging his pens and setting out his schoolbooks in neat order.

  Something is rotten, I thought, in the state of—

  “Say, listen, Blossom.” His head swiveled to me. “What is your opinion of our Haunted House class project?”

  “It will prove without doubt that there are no flies on the freshmen,” I mocked.

  He blinked. “That’s what I thought, too.” He turned away, but not for long. “By the way, Blossom—”

  “I thought you and me weren’t speaking, Alexander.”

  “Oh, that,” he said. “I’m not one to carry grudges and hope you are the same. We have the unity of the freshman class to consider.”

  “Is that a fact.”

  Alexander nodded, making a full turn. “How would you like to take part in running the Haunted House?”

  I shot him a dangerous look. “How would you like to—”

  But the first bell sounded then, and Miss Blankenship turned on us.

  “Meet me under the shade tree in the schoolyard at lunch,” Alexander whispered importantly. “We’ll discuss the matter.”

  Like Hamlet himself, I could hardly make up my mind all morning. As I was not born yesterday, I knew Alexander was playing up to me only under Letty’s orders. For reasons of her own, she’d decided I was to be in on the class fund raiser. I decided to play along just to see what they were up to.

  At lunch I awaited Alexander under the shade tree. Daisy-Rae’s broken boots were dangling down from a branch, so at least I’d have a witness.

  Alexander strolled up. “Well, Blossom, here is the deal. Letty—several of us officers have decided on the various attractions for our Haunted House. Tess and Bess, dressed up as bats, will flit around in the attic. Ione and Harriet and several others will jump out of closets at people. And we’re going to dress Champ Ferguson up as a monster, and—”

  “Champ Ferguson isn’t a freshman,” I reminded him.

  “I know, but he’s almost six foot tall, and we need a monster that size. Nobody’ll know him when we get him disguised.”

  “And what part are you playing in this, Alexander?”

  He drew himself up. “I’m in charge of the dungeon, which is in the cellar. I’ll be leading customers around in the dark down there and letting them feel the deadman’s remains. We’ll have a couple of peeled grapes for his eyes and a wet sponge for his brain and some warm spaghetti for his guts and—”

  “Hold it,” I said. “I’ve heard enough. Where do I come in on this deal?”

  “You’ll be the star attraction,” he said, “sort of.”

  “Is that a fact.”

  “Sure. You’re to dress up like a witch—you can borrow some of your mama’s clothes—and tell people’s fortunes. We’ll charge them an extra nickel for the reading.”

  I gave this some thought. Considering the other corn-fed plans they had for their so-called Haunted House, they could use a star attraction. And they knew it, too. It’s a sight how agreeable people can be when they want something out of you.

  “Of course,” Alexander said, “you can just fake the fortune-telling part.”

  I bristled. “Fake it? What for? I’ll remind you, Alexander, I got Powers and the Second Sight, same as you. You know yourself me and you can see the Unseen and glimpse Other Worlds if we put our minds to it.”

  “Well, just hush up about that,” Alexander said, glancing nervously around. “I have left all that kind of thing behind me, and I don’t care to discuss it. Besides, I don’t think we have those powers anymore.” He cleared his throat. “I haven’t been troubled in that way for quite a spell now. I expect it was just a stage that we have outgrown.”

  “Is that a fact,” I replied. “Gimme your hand.”

  He thrust both his hands into his pockets.

  “Gimme your hand, and be quick about it.” When I got him to stretch out a hand, I turned it palm up and ran my fingers lightly over it, squinting hard.

  “Hmmmmm,” says I, “that’s real interesting, that is.”

  “Knock it off, Blossom.”

  “Oh, yes, I see it clear now.” I pointed at random to a little line running across his palm. “Danger lurks in your immediate future.”

  “Cut it out, Blossom.”

  “No question about it,” I said. “I see . . . I see a dark and windswept night. Not Halloween. No. Sooner than that.” Alexander’s hand quivered in mine. “I see two—no, three shadowy figures. And . . . what’s this? A porch! That’s it, a porch. I see these three figures carrying something . . . a sack. PEEE-YEW,” I said. “It stinks. I see these three figures carrying this smelly sack up onto the porch.”

  I checked Alexander’s face to see how he was taking this. His eyes were growing wary and dark.

  “I see these three figures touching a match to this nasty sack . . . in front of the door. They’re laughing like fools and punching each other on the arms. They’re ringing the doorbell now and scampering off the porch. But lo and behold! Something they didn’t expect is about to—”

  Alexander grabbed his hand away. His ears were burning bright, and his friendly mood was forgotten.

  “Very funny, Blossom,” he sneered. “As if I didn’t know where you came by that information.”

  “It’s all there in your hand, Alexander. As you can see, I’m a first-rate fortune-teller. I could tell more if I felt like
it, which I don’t.”

  “You’re a first-rate snoop, Blossom. You’ve snooped on me at the . . . swimming hole, and you’ve snooped on me at the Bijou Picture Show. My life is hardly worth living, you spidery-legged little—”

  “Hold it right there, Alexander.” I spoke sternly. “If you get on the wrong side of me, where will you be with Letty? Me and you both know she sent you to sweet-talk me into telling fortunes. It has taken you quite a while to get up your nerve, too, and it’s Wednesday already. We are but two days from Halloween, and if you fail in your mission, your name will be mud with Letty. Give it some thought!”

  He did.

  “For two cents,” he muttered, “I’d resign as vice-president. It’s not worth the grief.”

  “Never mind,” I said. “This is your lucky day, as I’m willing to overlook your foul temper. I reckon I can make myself available as fortune-teller. Where are you setting up this so-called Haunted House anyway?”

  Looking relieved, Alexander said, “Oh, it’s readymade, and we’re decorating it real good. We’re using the old abandoned Leverette farmhouse out in the country.”

  My eyes no doubt popped. “How’s that again, Alexander?”

  “The old broken-down farmhouse,” he explained, “out past the—ah—swimming hole.”

  I swallowed. “I see. Well now, that puts a new light on things.”

  Alexander eyed me. “You can’t back out now, Blossom. You gave your word.”

  “Maybe so, but I also gave my word to Mama that I’d never go near that place.”

  “I will grant you,” Alexander said, “that your mama is crazy as a loon and mean as a weasel, but what has she got against that old falling-down house?”

  “Don’t you know, Alexander?”

  “No,” he said, but he was looking shifty.

  “Mama says that place is haunted or something. I mean, really haunted.”

  “There you go again, Blossom, telling tall tales and lying through your teeth.”

  “I didn’t say a word about it, Alexander. I don’t know what particular problem the old Leverette farmhouse suffers from. But I tell you one thing: It suffers from something. Mama doesn’t kid around.”