by David Lubar
“Todd was in a car accident,” Kate said as she sent the next phrase around the circle.
Again, they each repeated the words.
As Sharon took her turn, she heard Billy snicker.
When his turn came, Billy said, “Todd wet his pants.”
It wasn’t that funny, but Sharon giggled along with some of the other kids. Even Todd started laughing.
“That does it!” Kate shouted. She stood up and glared around the circle. Sharon looked away, feeling angry with herself for laughing and ruining the game.
“This is the last day of vacation,” Kate said. “We get messed up every time. I want to do this right just once. You kids always ruin it. You,” she said, pointing at Billy. “Out! You”—she pointed at Nora—“out! And you, too.”
Sharon found herself staring at Kate’s finger, hovering like a dagger just inches from her face. “But …”
“Out!” Kate screamed.
Sharon got up and backed away from the circle. It was a stupid game, anyway, she told herself. It never worked right. After chanting all the phrases, you were supposed to be able to lift the “victim” in the center with just two fingers. The victim was supposed to rise into the air. But there were so many kids playing that it was no big trick. It wasn’t like the person really floated.
Julie started to get up to join Sharon. “Stay,” Kate ordered. “We need you.”
Julie stood, her eyes shifting back and forth between Sharon and Kate.
“We don’t have enough,” Kate said. “You’ll ruin everything if you go. It will be all your fault.”
“Go ahead,” Sharon said to Julie.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Julie shrugged and rejoined the others on the ground.
“Light as a feather, stiff as a board,” Kate began.
The chant went around the circle. Sharon watched, part of her hoping that someone would mess up but part of her wanting to see the game done perfectly just one time. She wasn’t a member of the circle, but the chance to see it happen would still be special. She realized she’d lied to herself before—it wasn’t just a stupid game. It was more than that. If it was done absolutely perfectly right, Sharon believed something wonderful would happen.
“Todd was in a car accident.”
The chant made its path around the circle.
“Light as a feather, stiff as a board.”
Perfect.
“Todd is in the hospital,” Kate said.
Around it went.
“Light as a feather, stiff as a board.”
As always in the game, the victim’s condition grew worse with each turn.
“Todd is in a coma,” Kate said.
It went around with no mistakes.
“Light as a feather, stiff as a board.”
“Todd is dead,” Kate said.
Each person in the circle repeated the phrase, quietly and seriously. The jokers were gone. Nobody seemed to want to ruin the magic this time. In the air that surrounded her, Sharon felt as if the night was listening, watching, waiting.
“Light as a feather, stiff as a board,” Kate said.
The words took their path.
“Todd is in his coffin,” Kate said.
The chant went around.
Kate started the last turn. “Light as a feather, stiff as a board.” Her voice trembled slightly on the final word, but she spoke it clearly.
Sharon held her breath, wondering if the phrase would reach the end without error.
It did. For a moment, everyone in the circle remained still, as if they couldn’t believe they’d succeeded. Then, all together, the group stood. Holding two fingers of each hand beneath Todd, they raised their hands. Light as a feather, Todd rose. They lifted their hands to shoulder height. Then they raised their hands above their heads, supporting Todd on their extended fingers. Finally, when they reached the limits that their bodies could stretch, they stopped.
But Todd didn’t stop.
At first Sharon thought it was a trick of the moonlight. But Todd floated slowly above the outstretched arms.
“It worked,” someone gasped.
“Stop him,” Sharon shouted. She ran through the circle of kids and leaped to catch hold of Todd. Her fingers brushed the back of his shirt, but he was too high for her to grab.
“Do something,” Anne said.
Kate stood, staring up at Todd. “Stop that,” she demanded. “Come down right now.”
Todd continued to rise.
Sharon had an idea. “Do the whole thing backward,” she said. “That might bring him down.”
“I’ll do it,” Kate said as she pushed Sharon aside and knelt. “Quickly,” she said. The others from the original circle joined her on the ground. Kate paused, moving her lips as if she was having a hard time working out the words. Finally, she said, “Board a as stiff, feather a as light.”
“No, it all has to be backward,” Sharon said.
Kate glared at her. “I just said it backward. Don’t you know anything?”
“But it isn’t all backward,” Sharon said. “You still went first. You have to go last. And you have to go in the other direction and start with the last phrase.”
“That makes sense,” Julie said.
“Get out!” Kate yelled, pointing at Julie. “And you be quiet,” she said, glaring at Sharon again.
Julie stood and joined Sharon. “It won’t work,” Sharon whispered to her. “I know it won’t.”
“Anyone else have anything to say?” Kate asked.
Nobody spoke.
“Board a as stiff, feather a as light,” Kate said.
Sharon looked up. Todd was a dark splotch above her head. She hoped he would come down as slowly as he rose. But she was afraid it wouldn’t work—not the way Kate was doing it.
“Accident car a in was Todd,” Kate said, struggling to reverse each phrase.
But they were doing it without a mistake.
“Board a as stiff, feather a as light,”
Perfectly …
“Dead is Todd.”
No mistakes …
“Board a as stiff, feather a as light.”
Sharon fought the urge to shout, to stop them. “This is very wrong,” she whispered to Julie.
Julie nodded. She seemed to know, too.
“Hospital the in is Todd.”
“Board a as stiff, feather a as light.”
“Coma a in is Todd.”
“Board a as stiff, feather a as light.”
“Coffin his in is Todd.”
“Board a as stiff, feather a as light,” Kate said for the very last time.
Each in the circle repeated the phrase.
They were done. Sharon raised her eyes to the night sky. Todd was now barely a smudged dot far over their heads, one dark star among all the bright ones. Sharon couldn’t tell whether he was still rising.
“Is he coming down?” she asked Julie.
Julie didn’t answer. Sharon felt a hand clutch her shoulder, fingers digging painfully into her skin. “Hey, that hurts,” she said as she jerked away.
Julie was pointing with her other hand and making sounds that weren’t quite words.
Sharon looked to where Julie pointed. She, too, froze. The kids in the circle were still kneeling. But they were no longer on the ground. The whole group was rising. They rose silently, each one staring straight ahead as if locked in place.
Finally, Julie spoke. “They should have done it your way,” she said.
“I guess so.” Sharon watched as Kate and the others rose. She couldn’t even see Todd anymore.
“Should we try to bring them down?” Julie asked.
Sharon shivered as the night grew cooler. She really didn’t want all those kids to float away like chimney smoke. “If we do the game wrong, who knows what might happen to us?”
“Yeah,” Julie said. “We could just float away, too.”
Sharon nodded. “That’s not all—think what will h
appen if we do it right.”
“What?” Julie asked.
Sharon took one last look at the rising circle. “We’ll get Kate back. And that would be even worse.”
THE EVIL TREE
One day, as Patrick was walking home from school, he noticed a tree with a door in its side. He’d walked past this same tree many times, but there had never been a door before. A man stood next to the tree. He looked like a soldier, but he wasn’t wearing a uniform. He wore black pants and a black shirt with black buttons. The only color in his outfit was a gold buckle on his belt in the shape of a shield. His black hair was cut short. The man stood straight and stiff, but his eyes scanned slowly back and forth as if he was waiting for someone.
“What’s this?” Patrick asked, pointing to the door. It looked like a small version of a castle door. It was built with planks of wood. That was the only part that made sense to Patrick—if a tree had a door, the door should be made of wood. The planks were braced with crossbars of iron. There were large hinges on the left side and a heavy bolt on the right.
The man didn’t say anything.
“What is this?” Patrick asked again.
“You don’t want to know,” the man said.
“Yes, I do,” Patrick said. He took a step backward, remembering that he wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers.
“I really shouldn’t tell you.” The man turned his head away, as if pretending that Patrick didn’t exist.
“Tell me,” Patrick demanded. “Or …” He paused, trying to find the perfect threat. Sometimes he had to shout, sometimes he had to beg, and sometimes he had to whine. Sometimes he even had to pretend to be nice. But he always found a way to get whatever he desired. A ripple of excitement raced through Patrick as he thought of the perfect words. “Tell me or I’ll scream that you tried to kidnap me.”
“Would you really do something so nasty?” the man asked, still facing away from Patrick.
“Do you want to find out?” Patrick almost hoped he’d have a chance to start shouting.
The man sighed and turned back toward Patrick. “Very well. I’ll tell you. But you must promise not to reveal my secret to anyone. Do you swear?”
“I swear,” Patrick said. That was no problem. He’d grown very good at making promises, even when he had no intention of keeping them.
The man leaned forward and whispered. Patrick strained to hear. “Evil,” the man said. “This is where evil is stored to keep it away from the innocent people of the world.”
“You’re crazy.” Patrick enjoyed the chance to be rude to this stranger.
“Perhaps,” the man said. “But I am one of the guardians who have been given the task of protecting the world from evil.”
“Yeah, right.” Patrick was nearly certain that the man was crazy. But he couldn’t walk away without finding out for sure. If the man was telling the truth, there could be something fabulous inside the tree. Patrick wondered what evil looked like—did it have claws or wings? Did it have snakes for hair? He wasn’t afraid of such things—he was attracted to them. He had to see what was behind the door.
There was no reason to ask. It would be easier to just take what he wanted.
Patrick dashed forward and grabbed the bolt. He slid it free, then yanked hard. The door opened so fast Patrick almost lost his balance. He held onto the bolt and steadied himself, eager to see the evil.
There was nothing inside the tree.
“Hey, it’s empty,” Patrick said. He felt his jaws tighten as he gritted his teeth. It was all just some kind of stupid joke. The man would pay for tricking him. “You liar!” he screamed. “You stinking liar! This doesn’t hold any evil!” Patrick’s mind raced to find the best way to get even with the man.
With surprising suddenness and strength, the man pushed Patrick. He lost his grip on the edge of the door and stumbled inside the tree. “This doesn’t hold any evil!” Patrick shouted again as the door slammed shut, sealing the chamber in darkness. From outside, he heard three words.
“Now it does.”
There was a scraping sound as the bolt slid into place. Then Patrick heard quiet footsteps, fading, fading away.
KIDZILLA
When I woke up this morning, I was a lizard. I realized something was wrong the moment I rolled out of bed. The frame of the bed broke under my weight. I jumped as the mattress crashed to the floor, but I jumped too high, cracking my head on the ceiling and cracking the ceiling with my head. At the same time, my tail lashed the wall, knocking a large hole next to the window and spreading a shower of plaster. That made me sneeze, and I blew another hole in the wall.
“Hey, what’s going on up there?” Dad shouted from below.
“Nothing,” I tried to say. But it came out “Arrrrannnggg.” This situation definitely had possibilities.
“Just keep it down,” Dad said.
I made my way into the hall, doing only a little damage to one side of the door frame. I wish I could say the same about the toilet, but it shattered under the force of my you-know-what. Personal hygiene proved to be a challenge. I discovered I could pick up my toothbrush if I clutched it between both claws. It took almost the whole tube to clean all my teeth, but at least when I was done my mouth felt minty fresh. You wouldn’t believe how bad a lizard’s mouth can taste first thing in the morning.
Breakfast time.
I was hungry enough to eat a house.
Mom was making pancakes. “Hi, hon,” she said as I crashed my way into the kitchen and crushed down onto a chair. “Help yourself to juice.” She slid a plate stacked with pancakes onto the table.
I looked at the fridge and at my claws. The juice just didn’t seem worth the effort. Luckily, I was able to hook the pancakes without too much trouble. They tasted so good, I even licked my claws.
“Oops,” Mom said, glancing up at the clock. “Better get moving. You don’t want to be late for school.”
“Yes, Mom,” I said. It came out as a low growl, along with a stream of fire that shot across the kitchen and melted the garbage can. Oops.
I snagged my backpack with one claw and went through the door. The warm sunlight felt great on my scales. As soon as I crashed through the front gate, I learned that the sidewalk along the street was made of pretty thin concrete. The stuff just crumbled under my feet. It was like walking on Rice Krispies. Actually, it made a pretty neat sound.
I was having so much fun crunching the concrete that I was almost late for school. The bell was just ringing when I smashed through the narrow door.
Sitting at one of those tiny desks was out of the question, so I stood in the back of the room. When Mrs. Franzski came in, she just glanced over at me and said, “Oh, Bradley, I see you’ve found a new spot. Well, as long as you’re comfortable.”
She was very big on making sure we all had the proper “learning environment.” She even let Danny Mitty sit on the floor sometimes.
I didn’t raise my claw during class. I was pretty sure that if I said anything, I might be unable to avoid adding a stream of fire that would fry some of my classmates. While I wasn’t exactly buddy-buddy with everyone, there weren’t any kids who’d done anything bad enough to deserve being flamed.
After our reading lesson, we had gym class. We were doing our physical fitness tests today, so my size and strength came in pretty handy. I ran faster than ever before. Even though I had tiny arms, my powerful shoulders allowed me to do great at pushups. I did well at everything except sit-ups. Somehow, I just wasn’t built for them.
The rest of the morning went fairly smoothly. Lunch, however, looked like it might be a problem. They always served these really small portions in the cafeteria. Here I was, starving, ravenous, monstrously hungry, and the lady behind the counter plops this tiny little scoop of chicken surprise on my plate. Sorry. Not enough. I reached over the counter and grabbed the whole pan. Let me tell you—I must have been starving. Even the chicken surprise looked good. And, compared to the normal taste inside a lizard’s mouth
, it wasn’t all that bad, either.
Back in class, I wondered whether there was any point in paying attention. I mean, my future was pretty much not going to be changed by my ability or inability to name all the state capitals. The career options for giant lizards would be more along the lines of knocking down buildings or making tunnels through mountains. But I’d been a kid all my life and a lizard for just a day. Old habits are hard to break and old fears are very powerful. So I stayed in class.
As we were leaving the room at the end of the day, Mrs. Franzski called to me. “Bradley, you didn’t seem to be with us today. I hope you can pay more attention tomorrow.”
“Sure,” I said, though it came out as a bit of a roar.
She smiled, then went back to grading papers.
I headed home, walking along the same trail of crumbled sidewalk. Mom was making dinner. Dad was still at work. I went up to my room and melted all my toy soldiers, one at a time, with little puffs of breath. I hadn’t played with them in years, so it was no big deal if I ruined them.
Dinner went pretty much like breakfast. It was fried chicken, so Mom didn’t make a fuss when I ate with my hands. Lucky thing she hadn’t made meat loaf—or soup.
I slept really well. All that crushing and crashing must have tired me out. When I woke, I got out of bed carefully. But I realized I didn’t have to be very cautious. I wasn’t a lizard anymore. This morning, I was a robot. Good thing, too. We’re having a math test today.
EVERYONE’S A WINNER
“COME-UH, COME-UH, COME-UH! COME AND TRY YER LUCK.” The shout of the barker rang over the thousand other noises filling the cotton-candy air of the traveling carnival. “You there; yeah, you,” he called as he leaned forward and pointed at Derek. “Give it a try.”
Derek paused. He knew he should have kept walking, but he couldn’t ignore someone who was talking to him. It was a curse. He was too polite. “No thanks,” he said, a half smile nervously spreading across his lips.
“Everyone’s a winner,” the barker said. “Come on, what are you afraid of? I won’t bite you.”
Derek shrugged. What was he afraid of? It was only a game. Just skee ball, as a matter of fact. It looked easy enough to beat the score—250 points for a small prize, 300 for a medium, and a tough 420 for a large. Heck, Derek was sure he could hit 250 standing backward and tossing with his left hand. He dug in his pocket past the crumpled ride tickets and gum wrappers until his fingers found a quarter.
