by R. L. Stine
“You promised—!” Hannah shrieked.
The evil figure snickered. “First you enjoy good luck. Then you must pay for it. You cannot break the pattern. You should know that. You should know that you cannot bargain with Fate! You will pay for your good luck for the rest of your life!”
“No! Wait—! Wait!” Hannah pleaded, reaching up from the wheelchair, grasping at the black cloak, grasping frantically with both hands.
But the Fate Master spun around, swirling the foul air. He stomped heavily on the dead birds as he strode back into locker 13.
In a second he had vanished.
Dead birds littered the floor of the hall, the floor of my locker.
I turned to Hannah. Her shoulders heaved up and down. Loud sobs escaped her throat. “He promised….”
“It’s okay,” I said softly. “I didn’t keep my promise, either.”
I pulled the yellow skull from my jeans pocket.
Hannah gasped. “You didn’t give it to Stretch?”
I squeezed the skull in my fist. “Yes, I gave it to him. But I took it back before Stretch even saw it. I couldn’t do it. Stretch was too nice to me. I—I couldn’t. I couldn’t ruin someone’s life.”
Hannah shook her head. Tears spilled from her swollen eyes. “Now what are we going to do, Luke? We’re doomed. Now we don’t stand a chance.”
I bounced the basketball hard against the driveway. Drove toward the backboard and sent up a hook shot. It bounced off the rim, back into my hands. I spun hard and sent up a two-handed shot that dropped through the net.
Overhead, clouds covered the moon. The garage lights sent white cones of light over the driveway. Behind me, the house was dark except for a square of orange light from my bedroom window upstairs.
I glanced at the roof. Men had worked all day to repair the broken and missing shingles. The fallen tree had been hauled away. One window—broken in the storm—was still covered with cardboard.
All my fault, I realized. All the damage to the house was my fault.
My dad was walking with a cane. He had a badly sprained knee from his fall down the stairs. But he was okay … for now.
That was all my fault too, I knew.
All my bad luck.
I heaved the ball angrily at the backboard. It thudded high, bounced back to the driveway. I picked it up and shot it through the hoop.
Luck … luck … luck …
The word ran through my mind like an ugly chant.
And then I heard Stretch’s words again. Stretch actually saying something nice to me: “Luck had nothing to do with it, Luke. It was hard work and skill.”
Hard work and skill.
Not luck.
“You cannot break the pattern,” the Fate Master had said. “First you have the good luck—then you pay for it.”
The pattern. You cannot break the pattern.
Not luck. Hard work and skill.
I shot the ball again. Dribbled, then shot again. Even though it was a cold, frosty night, sweat poured down my forehead. I wanted to work harder. Harder.
And as I practiced, those words repeated and repeated in my mind. And I knew what I had to do. I knew the only way I could end the bad luck for Hannah and for me.
The only way I could defeat the Fate Master.
I shot again. Again. I moved to the foul line and put up several foul shots.
I didn’t stop when I saw the kitchen light flash on. The back door swung open. Dad stepped into the yard, wearing his bathrobe, leaning on his cane.
“Luke—what are you doing?” he called. “It’s after eleven o’clock!”
“Practicing,” I said, sending up another jump shot.
Walking unsteadily, he came up to the edge of the driveway. “But—it’s so late. Why are you doing this?”
“I’m going to win without luck!” I replied. I sent up another shot and watched it drop through the hoop. “I’m going to win with skill!” I shouted. “I can break the pattern! I can win without luck.”
And then, without realizing it, I was screaming at the top of my lungs: “I DON’T NEED LUCK! I DON’T NEED LUCK!”
My plan was simple. Maybe too simple.
But I had to give it a try.
I didn’t tell it to Hannah. She was pretty much destroyed. I didn’t want to give her any more to worry about.
I knew I didn’t have much time—maybe a day or two at the most.
As soon as the Fate Master discovered that I still had the skull, that I hadn’t passed it on to Stretch, he would come after me full force.
My plan?
It was to break the pattern.
To win. To win big. To have a major success. Without luck. Without needing any good luck.
If I could win with my own hard work, with my own skill, my own talent—it would be a defeat for the Fate Master. I would break his rule. I would break the pattern.
And maybe … just maybe that would free Hannah and me.
And that’s why I practiced on my driveway. Practiced in the dark, in the cold until after midnight. Hard work and skill.
Hard work and skill.
Shawnee Valley played Forest Grove this afternoon. The last game of the season.
My last chance to win without luck.
As I changed into my team uniform, I knew I had to be great. I had to be a winner today. I had to win the game for my team.
And if I did?
If I did, maybe the nightmare would be over.
I was so nervous, I had to lace up my sneakers three times. I kept knotting them up. My fingers just wouldn’t work.
“Go, Squires! Go, Squires!”
Guys were pounding their fists on the lockers, shouting, jumping up and down, getting pumped, getting ready.
Stretch gave me a playful slap as he jogged past. “Try not to bump heads today, Champ! We gonna beat these clowns?”
I flashed him a thumbs-up. “They’re dead meat!” I shouted.
I tucked in my jersey, slammed the gym locker shut, and trotted out into the gym. I blinked under the bright lights. A big crowd nearly filled the bleachers. They were stamping their feet in time to some marching music over the loudspeaker.
I searched for Hannah but didn’t see her.
The last game of the year, I thought as I picked up a basketball from the rack. My last chance …
I swallowed hard, trying to force down my fear.
Was the Fate Master here? Did he know that I lied to him? That I didn’t give the skull to Stretch?
I don’t care about that, I told myself. I’m going to be a winner today without his good luck.
I’m going to break the pattern.
I’m going to break the Fate Master!
I dribbled up to Coach Bendix. He slapped me on the shoulder as I passed. “Have a great game, Luke!” he called. “Keep it slow and steady. Remember—just focus. Focus.”
“Okay, Coach,” I called. “I’m ready. I feel good. Real strong. I think I’m going to—”
I felt a strong blast of cold air. It swept through the gym, like an invisible ocean wave.
And then I saw Coach’s expression change very suddenly. He was grinning at me, flashing me a thumbs-up. And then his hand came down. His face went slack. His eyes appeared to fade, to glaze over as if a curtain had been drawn over them.
As if he’d been hypnotized or something.
“Hey, Luke,” he said, motioning me back to him. He frowned, narrowing his eyes at me.
“What is it?” I asked, keeping up my dribble.
“Take the bench,” he ordered, pointing to the team bench with his whistle.
“Huh?” I gaped at him.
“The bench,” he repeated, his face a blank now, his eyes vacant, dull. “You can’t play today.”
“Hey—no way!” I protested. “What do you mean? I’ve got to play!”
He shook his head. “You can’t play today, Luke. Your concussion—remember? I need a doctor’s note. Have you been examined? You can’t play until
you’re examined.”
My mouth hung open. “Coach … I’ve been practicing so hard. Please. You’ve got to let me in the game today,” I pleaded. My heart pounded so hard, I felt dizzy. My head throbbed. “Coach … I have to play. It’s the last game.”
He shook his head. “Sorry.” He motioned to the bench. “We have to follow the rules.”
Whose rules? I thought bitterly. The Fate Master’s rules?
Coach Bendix gazed at me with those glazed, blank eyes. “Sorry. You’ve already played your last game, Luke.”
“But—but—” I sputtered.
“You’ll get ’em next year!” he said. He blew his whistle. “Stretch—you’re in! You’re playing the whole game!”
I stood there. I didn’t move. I stood in the middle of the floor with my hands on my waist. Waiting for my heart to stop racing. Waiting for my legs to stop trembling.
Then I turned and slowly trudged to the bench.
I’d lost today. Score one round for the Fate Master.
No way I could break the pattern today. I was a loser today.
But I wasn’t finished. I could still win.
If I had time …
“Give the skull to Stretch,” Hannah pleaded. “Maybe the Fate Master will go easy on us.”
It was the next day. We were huddled at the back of the lunchroom. I could see Stretch laughing and kidding around with his friends at a table near the front. The Squires had won the game by two points, and Stretch had been a hero.
“I can’t do it,” I said, shaking my head. “Besides, you heard what the Fate Master said. He doesn’t make deals. It won’t help to pass it to Stretch.”
Hannah let out a sigh. She had her head buried in her hands. “Then what are we going to do?”
“I’ll find a way to defeat him,” I said. I bit into my ham sandwich. “Hey—!” I felt something hard.
“Oh no,” I moaned. I spit out a tooth.
In a panic I moved my tongue around the inside of my mouth. “My teeth,” I groaned. “They’re all loose. I’m going to lose all my teeth.”
Hannah didn’t lift her head. She whispered something, too low for me to hear.
“I’ve got to go,” I said, jumping up. “I have some ideas, Hannah. Don’t give up hope. I have some ideas.”
I ran past Stretch’s table, where the guys were laughing and blowing straw wrappers at each other. Stretch called out to me, but I didn’t stop.
I made my way to the computer lab. The door was closed. I pulled it open and burst breathlessly into the brightly lit room.
“Mrs. Coffey? Mrs. Coffey? It’s me—Luke!”
I felt another tooth swing loose in my mouth. I gritted my teeth, trying to press it down into place.
A chubby young man I’d never seen before came out of the supply room. He had short black hair on top of a round, pudgy face, and bright red cheeks. He looked like an apple with eyes! He wore a red plaid shirt over black denims.
“Is Mrs. Coffey here?” I demanded. “I need to talk to her.”
He set down the disk drive he was carrying. “She’s gone,” he said.
“You mean she went to lunch?” I asked.
He shook his round head. “No. She left school. She got another job.”
“I—I know,” I stammered. “But I thought—”
“I’m Ron Handleman,” he said. “I’m taking over the computer lab. Do you have a class with me?”
“Uh … no,” I said. “But I have a project I was supposed to show Mrs. Coffey. She was going to send it to someone who might put it in a show. It’s computer animation, you see. I’ve been working on it for two years and … and …” In my panic the words poured out of me. I had to stop to take a breath.
“Slow down,” Mr. Handleman said. “She probably left me a note about it. She left me a stack of notes.” He glanced around the cluttered worktable. “I put them somewhere.”
How could Mrs. Coffey leave without seeing my project? I asked myself. How could she do that to me?
Didn’t she realize how important it was? This could be my big triumph. If my computer animation is accepted for a show—because of my hard work, only because of my skill and hard work—it would break the pattern. It might defeat the Fate Master.
Didn’t she realize?
“Uh … can you look at my computer animation?” I asked.
Mr. Handleman’s cheeks grew redder. “When?”
“Tonight?” I asked, my heart pounding.
“Well … I don’t think so,” he replied. “Not tonight. I mean, this is my first day. I have so much to do here. Maybe next week … ”
“No!” I screamed. “You have to look at it! Please! It’s very important!”
“I’d love to see it,” he said, picking up the disk drive, starting across the room with it. “But I have to get organized. Maybe …”
“Please!” I cried. “Find Mrs. Coffey’s note. We’ve got to get it to the man who’s putting together the computer art show. Please!”
He narrowed his eyes at me. He probably thought I was crazy.
But I didn’t care. I needed a victory. I knew there wasn’t much time.
“Okay,” Mr. Handleman said finally. “Bring it in first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll try to look at it during lunch.”
Not good enough. Tomorrow might be too late, I realized.
“How late will you be here this afternoon?” I asked breathlessly.
“Pretty late,” he replied. “Since it’s my first day, I—”
“I’ll run home after school and get it,” I said. “I’ll bring it to you before you leave tonight. Could you … I mean, would you look at it this afternoon? Please?”
“Okay, I guess. I’ll be here till at least five,” he said.
“Yesss!” I cried, pumping my fist in the air. I turned and raced out of the computer lab.
I can win! I told myself. I can defeat the Fate Master. My animation project is good. I know it is. I’ve worked for two years on it. I’ve put so much hard work into it.
I don’t need luck. I don’t need good luck at all.
After school I ran all the way home. I burst into the kitchen, tossed down my backpack, and started to my room. I stopped halfway to the stairs when I heard voices from the living room.
“Luke—is that you?” Mom called.
Mom and Dad were both there, sitting in the dark. Dad leaned heavily on his cane. Mom had her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
I stopped in the living room doorway. “Why are you both home so early?” I asked.
“I had to come home. I couldn’t work,” Dad said softly. “That fall I took. It was worse than we thought. Looks like I’m going to need surgery.”
“Oh, no,” I muttered. My fault. It was all my fault.
But I didn’t really have time to talk to them. I had to get to my computer. I wanted to check out the animation one more time before I made a copy for Mr. Handleman. Then I had to rush back to school.
“But why are you sitting in the dark?” I asked. “Why don’t you turn on some lights?”
“We can’t,” Mom said, shaking her head. “There’s some kind of trouble with the power lines to our block. The electricity is off. We have no power. No power at all.”
I let out a horrified scream. “Nooooo! My computer!”
“You’ll have to wait till the power comes back on,” Dad said.
“But—but—” I sputtered.
“We’re having so much bad luck all of a sudden,” Dad murmured.
“We may have to leave the house tonight,” Mom said, sighing unhappily. “Without electricity we have no heat. We may have to check into a hotel or something.”
“Oh, no.” I tugged at my hair. A big clump of it came out in my hand.
I was losing my hair. Losing my teeth. How could I fight back? How?
“He can’t do this to me!” I screamed. “He can’t! He can’t!” I turned and grabbed the banister and pulled myself up the stairs.
“
Luke? What are you saying?”
“Where are you going?”
I didn’t answer. I dived into my room and slammed the door shut behind me.
Breathing hard, I stared at my computer. Stared at the dark monitor screen.
Useless. Totally useless.
Frustrated, I kicked the side of my desk. “Owww!” I didn’t mean to kick it that hard. Sharp pain throbbed up my leg, up my side.
“Oh, wait.” I suddenly remembered. I already made a copy!
Yes! I made a backup copy of my project. On my Zip drive. Yes!
I fumbled frantically through the pile of disks on my desk. And grabbed the Zip disk.
I still have a chance, I told myself. The Fate Master thought he shut me down. But I still have a chance.
I stuffed the disk into my jacket pocket. I hurled myself down the stairs two at a time. “Bye! I have to go back to school!” I shouted to my parents.
“Why?”
“What’s going on, Luke? We need you here.”
“Hey—come back and explain!”
I heard their cries, but I burst out the front door and kept running.
“I’ll stop the bad luck,” I said out loud. “I’ll stop it. I’ll stop the Fate Master—now!”
I found Mr. Handleman in the computer lab, leaning over a keyboard, typing an e-mail message. He spun around when I shouted hi to him.
I held up the disk. “Here it is! Please! You’ve got to check it out!”
He motioned for me to sit down next to him. “I spoke to the producer of the computer show,” he said. “He called me this afternoon. He said that if I liked your animation, I should send it over to him right away.”
“Excellent!” I cried. “That’s great news!”
“Aren’t you going to take your coat off?”
“No,” I answered breathlessly. I shoved the disk into the Zip drive. “No time. You have to see this. Right away.”
He laughed. “Slow down. Take a deep breath.”
“I’ll breathe after you see it!” I said.
He leaned back in his chair and used his hands as a headrest. “You’ve been working on this for two years?”
I nodded.
I found the file in the disk directory and double-clicked it. “Here goes,” I said. I was so nervous, the mouse trembled in my hand. My chest was so tight, it felt about to burst.
