Oracle of Doom

by D. J. MacHale

  “I don’t care what your superiors have authorized you to do,” Baz snarled. “If you remain here at the park, your life will be in grave danger.”

  Muffled gasps came from everywhere.

  Simmons stood awkwardly, staring at Baz. He finally steeled himself and called out, “I ain’t leaving work just because you want to put on a good show. That ain’t right. I earned this job.”

  “And if you want to keep it, you will go home,” Baz said with a sneer.

  Simmons took a few steps toward Baz, his anger growing.

  “What kinda scam you runnin’ here?” Simmons shouted. “Those other people you talked about—they friends of yours?”

  People looked to Cook and the Landolf girl, who vehemently shook their heads.

  “I don’t believe it,” Simmons said. “You can’t monkey with people’s lives. Maybe you’re the one who’s in grave danger.”

  Simmons took another step toward the stage. Sensing a fight, people sprang up to get a better look. A few men jumped in to hold the angry guy back. Things were about to get ugly.

  Baz wasn’t shaken. A bright light appeared inside the crystal ball, growing quickly and flashing so brightly that everyone in the tent had to cover their eyes. A few seconds later, they dropped their hands to see that the stage was empty.

  Baz was gone.

  The surprised emotions were all over the map. People were stunned, they applauded, they shouted in anger, they laughed. Like it or not, the show was over. It might have been a short performance, but it was filled with drama.

  Simmons stood near the front of the stage, his fists clenched.

  “Hey, fella, you gonna go home?” a guy asked him.

  Simmons looked unsure of how to answer.

  “Nah,” he finally said, and spit on the ground. “If anybody’s gotta be worried, it’s that phony swami. He better not cross me.”

  Simmons stormed for the exit as people cleared a path for him.

  Once he was gone, the rest of the audience filed out of the tent, abuzz over what they had witnessed. Could Baz actually see the future? Several approached the young Landolf girl and the expectant couple to verify they weren’t part of the show. They assured all who asked that they were not plants and had never met Baz before.

  Outside the tent, Simmons strode away quickly.

  “Charlie!” a woman called as she hurried after him.

  Simmons kept moving as the young woman caught up and matched him stride for stride.

  “Maybe we should go home,” she said nervously.

  “It’s a joke, Laura,” Simmons said curtly. “For show. Nothing’s going to happen, except I might give that Baz character a knuckle sandwich.”

  “But what if—?”

  “I need this job, Laura. We need this job. I ain’t leaving.”

  “Then be careful, okay?”

  Simmons stopped and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “I will,” he said. “Go have some fun. It’s opening day!”

  Simmons hurried off, leaving his young wife standing alone and not as confident as her husband that all would be fine.

  SIMMONS WORKED ON A ride called Blackbeard’s Galleon. It was a massive pirate ship that “sailed” on an artificial waterway that circled the park. The experience was made all the more impressive by sword-fighting pirates who would swing from the masts and do battle on the deck. It had already become the most popular attraction in the park.

  Simmons was one of the shore crew. They dressed as pirates, complete with hats emblazoned with a skull and crossbones. Their job was to keep the guests safe and orderly, which was no easy task on opening day, since the ship was filled to capacity on every voyage. The floating dock that was the boarding area was constantly loaded with excited people waiting their turn.

  As the giant ship neared the dock, its tall masts could be seen moving through the trees, looming closer. The “pirates” on board cast heavy lines to the shore crew, who would lash them around metal cleats to stabilize the vessel. It was about as thrilling and dangerous as a Kiddie-Town ride, but the sheer size of the ship was the real draw. The pirate battles were fun too.

  After waiting on a very long line to board the ship, the crush of eager voyagers grew impatient. It was a challenge for Charlie and his crew to keep them back. Nobody expected the crowds to be so huge. And unruly.

  “Please step back,” Charlie urged, trying to keep too many people from pushing onto the floating dock. “Everybody will get on.”

  It was a hot day in May, and patience was wearing thin. By the time people got to the front of the line, they were more than tired of waiting. Their anticipation only grew as the large galleon finally arrived at the dock. There were squeals of excitement from the youngest kids and a surge from behind as people shoved ahead to get onto the already overloaded dock.

  “Don’t push, folks,” Simmons called out, trying to maintain a welcoming smile. “You’ll all get to ride.”

  The dock listed to one side, causing a small panic.

  “Whoa, whoa!” Simmons called out. “I need some folks to step back off the dock.”

  The float was dangerously overloaded and imbalanced. Some people jumped back onto the cement landing, but others steadfastly refused to give up their spots.

  “Heave ho, matey!” a pirate called from the ship.

  That was the signal for the shore crew to be ready to receive the lines and tie up the vessel.

  Simmons was torn. The massive ship needed to be secured, but the crowd was getting out of hand. He thought fast and pushed his way through to get to his station on the dock. The pirate on board tossed him the line, and Simmons expertly lashed it around a metal cleat. Done. Within seconds he was back working crowd control.

  “We need folks to step off the float,” he called out with more urgency.

  Nobody got off. More stepped on. The floating dock had been tested for safety long before the park opened, but never with so many people on it. It bucked in the water as people jockeyed to stay on their feet and not go over the side.

  “Step off now!” Simmons shouted, his frustration finally showing.

  This time people listened. Several stepped back onto the cement jetty, and the float settled down.

  Simmons relaxed. Disaster averted. The other shore worker approached him, wiping nervous sweat from his forehead.

  “That was close,” the guy said. “We need a lot more staff on busy days.”

  “That’s for sure,” Simmons said. “Stick it in the suggestion box.” With a chuckle, he turned to the ship, ready to pull out the gangplank.

  “It’s okay, folks,” the other worker announced to the crowd. “Blackbeard’s Galleon will be back in half an hour for anybody who doesn’t get aboard for this voyage.”

  A disappointed groan went up from the crowd. That wasn’t what they wanted to hear.

  “Half an hour?” one guy yelled angrily from the rear. “I’ve already been waiting an hour!”

  “It’s a big boat!” a mother yelled as she pushed her young children back onto the floating dock. “There’s plenty of room!”

  “I ain’t waiting another minute!” a teenage kid snarled, and leapt onto the dock.

  Others followed suit.

  “No!” Charlie yelled while throwing his arms out to stop them.

  It was no use. Several people jumped onto the dock, making the float list dramatically.

  Charlie yelled, “Step off! Now!”

  The dock tilted toward shore, putting extra strain on the lines that were securing the ship. They instantly went as tight as guitar strings. It was a strain the ship wasn’t designed to take…

  …and a disaster nobody anticipated.

  Crack!

  A heavy metal cleat was torn from the wooden hull. Like a wild snake, the line whiplashed toward shore, a
long with the chunk of sharp metal it was attached to.

  “Look out!” Simmons shouted, and dove for a young boy who was on the edge of the dock, staring up at the ship in awe.

  Simmons pushed the boy out of the way just in time.

  The kid was saved.

  Simmons wasn’t.

  The cleat whiplashed through the air at the end of the line and hit him square in the forehead.

  The horrified cries from the crowd said it all. They cowered away and finally jumped off the dock. In seconds, the floating platform was cleared.

  Only one person remained.

  Charlie Simmons. He lay flat, not moving.

  The crowd stared in stunned silence. It was eerily quiet except for the joyous sounds of the amusement park that now seemed a world away.

  The passengers on the ship lined the railing, staring down at the scene. Some backed away in horror. Others couldn’t take their eyes off the disaster. One woman made her way to the railing, looked down to see Charlie, and fainted.

  It was his wife, Laura.

  ON THE OTHER SIDE of the park, the Oracle Baz’s tent was empty. There would be no more shows that day. Baz sat on his throne, staring into the crystal ball.

  One of the circus clowns burst into the tent and ran up the aisle toward the stage.

  “Hey, did you hear?” the clown called to Baz. “One of the pirate guys got hit with the rigging from the ship. Killed him on the spot.”

  “Indeed?” Baz said with no emotion. “Mr. Simmons should have heeded my warning.”

  The clown gave him a curious look. “You, uh, you saw that coming?” he asked.

  Baz raised his gaze to focus on the clown. “Perhaps you would like to hear details of your own future?”

  The clown’s garish face fell. He swallowed hard and backed away. “Uh, no thanks, pal,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’ll be surprised.”

  Baz watched the clown scamper away, then turned his attention back to the crystal ball.

  “And to think,” he said to himself with a bemused smile, “this is but opening day.”

  I had to see it for myself.

  Reading about something is one thing. Experiencing it in person is a whole ’nother ball game. That’s why right after school I rode my bike to downtown Stony Brook and hopped on a bus headed west along local streets. I’d taken this same bus a bunch of times with my family and a couple of times with friends. I knew the deal. Ten stops ahead and two towns over was my destination.

  Playland.

  It was early November. Connecticut snow was still a few weeks away, but it was getting dark early, and the chilly wind that whipped through the barren trees felt like an ominous warning. Halloween was over. The holiday season was coming on fast, and so was another long gray winter.

  It had been only a few days since we finished the story we titled Black Moon Rising. My friends and I needed a break. We were tired. Simple as that. When we stepped into an unfinished story, time in real life stood still. That was cool, except our bodies didn’t stop, and it wasn’t like we were sitting around with our feet up playing The Legend of Zelda. Oh no. We had just done battle with a centuries-old coven of witches bent on wiping out an entire town and taking over the world.

  That took some effort.

  After we left Black Moon Rising through the interdimensional crossroads of the Library, we wanted nothing more than to rest, recharge our batteries, and spend a little time in the real world before tackling the next story.

  Wasn’t going to happen.

  Another book came our way, and it looked to be the most important one yet. It wasn’t about people who lived far away from us, or strangers who existed in the past. No, this story was about my best friends, Lu and Theo, and about a fortune-telling machine that was spitting out predictions that came true.

  You know. That.

  Both my friends were dealing with strange troubles known as disruptions. The Library is filled with stories like theirs. Stories that defy logic, that can’t be explained using the normal rules of science and nature.

  Lu’s cousin Jenny Feng was missing. She had left home a few weeks ago, and nobody had heard from her since. It was a total, terrifying mystery. In Theo’s case, he had gotten a fortune from that strange machine that told him life as he knew it would end on his fourteenth birthday. Yeah. Seriously. He wouldn’t have thought twice about it except both of his brothers had received fortunes from the same machine, and both of those predictions came true.

  Everett the librarian had been searching through the stacks in the Library, looking for unfinished books that might contain Lu’s and Theo’s stories. If he found them, it would mean they were dealing with actual disruptions, and we’d have some information that would help us solve them.

  It took some time, but Everett found it.

  It. One book. Not two. One.

  It held both stories.

  The book told the tale of an old-time fortune-teller named the Oracle Baz, who supposedly could see into the future. Baz was long dead. He hadn’t told a fortune in decades, but the arcade machine with his name on it was keeping up the tradition. Theo and his brothers got fortunes from it, and, as it turned out, so did Lu’s cousin Jenny. It was all written in the book. We needed to find out if Jenny’s fortune had anything to do with her disappearance, and what kind of trouble Theo might be headed for on his birthday.

  We hadn’t been dealing with their problems until then because, to be honest, we didn’t know what to do. But once Everett found the book, we had information. Now we could act.

  And it had to be fast: Theo’s birthday was only a few days away.

  That’s why I found myself on a bus on a cold November afternoon, headed to Playland, the home of that mysterious machine.

  I didn’t tell Lu and Theo I was going. I wanted to see this magical fortune-telling machine for myself. My friends are awesome—the best—but sometimes I need to think things through on my own. There would be plenty of time for them to get involved. Heck, they were already involved. It was their story.

  The bus pulled up to the stop at the end of Playland Parkway, and I was the only passenger who got off. Not a whole lot of people visit Playland in the winter, since it’s closed for the season. The bus driver gave me an odd look. I knew he was dying to say, “You know the park is closed, fool. Right?” But he had a schedule to keep, and so he drove off without a word, leaving a cloud of noxious diesel smoke behind.

  I’d been to Playland dozens of times. It was a totally familiar place. But seeing it in winter was a whole different experience. The normally leafy trees were barren and gray; the vast parking lot was empty; and there wasn’t another person to be seen anywhere. Maybe eeriest of all was the sound. Or lack of sound. Ordinarily, there’d be music and the clatter of rides and screams of excitement from a thousand happy people. But in November it was dead quiet. It didn’t help that the sun was on its way down and shadows were growing long. There’s a reason why so many horror movies are set in abandoned amusement parks. These places are usually full of life and excitement, so when they’re quiet and empty, they just feel…dead.

  I half expected to see Scooby-Doo and Shaggy run by.

  There was a collapsible metal gate pulled across the tall archway that was the entrance to the park. I was relieved to find that it wasn’t locked. All I had to do was push it open a few inches to slip through. It was way too easy to get in, which made me think the park probably had all sorts of other security, like cameras and guards and motion detectors. For all I knew, somebody in a high-tech control center had already spotted me, and a team of armed security goons was on the way to toss me out. How would I explain that all I wanted to do was check out the fortune-telling machine?

  I had to be stealthy, so I hugged the buildings, staying near pillars and signs and trees and anything else that would block me from view. M
oving through the empty park was both creepy and cool. It was like walking through a still frame; nothing was moving. And it was cold. November cold. It gave new meaning to the term freeze frame because I was definitely freezing. I wished I had worn something heavier than my usual Stony Brook Middle School green hoodie. I didn’t even have gloves and had to pull up my hood to protect my ears. It probably made me look more like a lurker up to no good, but…too bad. I was freakin’ cold.

  There were a couple of arcades in Playland, and I was pretty sure which one was my target. It was a small arcade tucked behind the bumper car building. Nobody went there much. Or ever. It was out of the way, and all the games were retro. I don’t mean Pac-Man and Donkey Kong classics; we’re talking dusty vintage games that had been around since Playland first opened. It was more like a museum than an arcade. I think it appealed to grown-ups because it reminded them of the olden days. You never saw any kids in there; playing those games got boring after about five seconds. I’d been there a grand total of once, and only because I got lost looking for a bathroom. But I remembered it. If there was any place that would have an ancient fortune-telling machine, it would be that dusty arcade.

  Being in the park was like having one foot in the present and one in the past. Playland had some seriously great modern rides, like the Jetstar roller coaster and a couple of virtual-reality space adventures. But in addition to all the modern rides, there were still some that had been around since the park first opened. Classics, I guess you’d call them. The Tornado roller coaster was a big old wooden thing that was just as fun as any of the modern metal ones. The Derby Racer was like an out-of-control merry-go-round that spun so fast you had to hang on tight for fear of getting tossed off the horse. There was a tunnel-of-love boat ride called Ye Olde Gold Mine, and the Whip, and of course a Ferris wheel.

  Lots of the decorative structures along the midway looked like they’d been around forever too. Arches and wooden sidewalks and food stalls gave the illusion of what the park had been like decades before. There was even an old-fashioned boardwalk lined with games of chance that ran along the shore of the Long Island Sound on the far edge of the park.