Nightmare Hour

by R. L. Stine

  “Why, pray, did you do that, sir?” Ned asked, rubbing his stinging skin.

  “To wake you up,” Margolin said sharply. “You had that dreamy look about you again. I cannot tolerate that look in the morning.”

  Margolin rubbed his pointed black beard as he lowered himself behind the long oak dining table. The stack of breakfast cakes steamed fragrantly on their silver platter.

  Margolin grumbled something, then glared at Ned. “Idiot, you know I require bacon with my cakes.” His sneer revealed two rows of yellow teeth beneath the black mustache.

  “Yes, sir! The bacon is ready, sir,” Ned replied, still trying to rub the sting from his cheek.

  “Then fetch it, fool!” Margolin bellowed. “Fetch it right now!”

  Ned spun away with a gasp. He hurried to the fiery hearth, speared the bacon with a knife, and carried it to the table on another silver platter.

  The sorcerer sniffed deeply, inhaling the delicious aroma. He grunted his approval and piled several bacon slices onto his plate of cakes.

  Ned edged back to the wall and stood watching alertly as the sorcerer noisily--and sloppily--downed his breakfast. Ned had to remain stiffly at attention, in case the sorcerer wanted more breakfast cakes or suddenly changed his mind and wanted eggs instead. Ned was there to serve Margolin’s every demand.

  For that is the job of an apprentice.

  Lucky Ned.

  At least that’s what his father had said two years ago, when he’d left Ned at the sorcerer’s dark castle on Ned’s tenth birthday. “You are lucky that such a powerful man of magic has agreed to let you serve him, lad. If you stayed with your mother and me, you would surely starve.”

  Ned didn’t want to leave home, a tiny thatched hut on the edge of the forest. He cried when he had to say good-bye to his five brothers and sisters.

  But his father’s word was law.

  “Margolin will show you what life is about,” his father said as they stepped into the dark shadow of the sorcerer’s castle.

  Ned had a lively, mischievous spirit. He liked to play tricks on the village kids and take away the apples and sweet figs their parents had given them. His favorite sport was stealing chickens from the neighbors’ henhouses.

  “You need taming, boy. Margolin will teach you responsibility,” Ned’s father said. He patted Ned’s head, turned, and walked away from the castle. He didn’t look back.

  Margolin was cruel to Ned from the start. He fed Ned leftovers, dressed him in rags, and made the thin boy do the work of six men. He slapped Ned daily, for no reason, and ordered him about like a dog.

  If only once in a while he would allow me time to play, Ned thought bitterly. Time to go outside and enjoy the sunlight and the sweet forest air.

  But Margolin never left the castle. And he forced Ned to remain inside its dark stone walls along with him.

  The sorcerer spent all his time in the vast magic chamber, mixing powders and liquids, inventing new spells and curses. Usually he tried them out on Ned. Sometimes he cast his spells on the unsuspecting people in the village.

  The farmers were powerless when their pigs turned blue and died. The villagers were horrified when their tongues swelled up like sausage meats. Or when their children couldn’t stop dancing.

  Ned had no choice but to help with these cruel spells. He ground the bird wings and squirrel bones to powder. He mixed the animal blood, the dog intestines, the cat eyeballs, and then cleaned the putrid jars and beakers when they were emptied.

  And if he didn’t work fast enough, he received a stinging slap from Margolin that swelled his cheek and made him reel with dizziness.

  “Mmmp mmmmph.” The sorcerer suddenly stopped chewing his breakfast. His dark eyes bulged. A slice of bacon wriggled out between his lips.

  Ned stared openmouthed as the bacon dropped from Margolin’s lips and wriggled on the tabletop. Then all the bacon on the silver platter began to wriggle and curl.

  “Ssssnakes!” Margolin hissed. He jumped to his feet, spitting furiously. Another brown snake slid out of his mouth. It hit the floor and slithered under the table.

  Snakes slithered over the breakfast cakes, spilled off the plate, and slid onto the table.

  “What has happened here? Someone has turned the bacon into snakes!” Margolin bellowed furiously, glaring at Ned. He wrapped his fingers around a fat, brown snake and heaved it across the room at him.

  Ned ducked. The snake went splat against the stone wall behind him.

  “Please, sir. Please--” Ned pleaded, falling to his knees, raising his clasped hands. “Please--the bacon was fine when I cooked it!”

  Margolin kicked a snake away with the toe of his boot. “I know who did this!” he bellowed, sweeping more snakes off the table. He pounded his fists together. “It was Shamandra.”

  “Shamandra?” Ned cried, still on his knees. “Who is Shamandra?”

  Margolin’s eyes flashed with dark anger. “Shamandra is a puny, pitiful sorcerer. Snakes are his specialty,” he said through gritted teeth. “It is Shamandra’s warning to me.”

  “W-warning?” Ned stammered.

  “Warning that he is coming here,” Margolin raged. “That he is coming here to destroy me and take my castle as his own.”

  Ned trembled in fear. “Then what…what will happen to me?” he whispered.

  Margolin stared at him. “Who cares about you?” he said. He strode from the dining hall, his shiny black boots thudding hard on the floorboards. “Come, boy. We will prepare something special for Shamandra. He will not find it so easy to battle Margolin. Shamandra will fail miserably. After all, that is the first part of his name. Sham. And a sham is a fake!”

  Ned cast one last glance at the snakes crawling across the floor. Then he scrambled to his feet and followed Margolin into the sorcerer’s magic chamber.

  “Shamandra would not be able to cast such a spell unless he was close by. He is only a day or two away,” Margolin said. “I know him. Once he has made his challenge, he will not waste any time.”

  He stepped to the wall of supplies and began pulling jars and flasks and tiny cloth bags from the shelves. “I know the spells I will use to defeat him.”

  “Will you cast a vanishing spell?” Ned asked.

  Margolin snorted. “No, fool. That is too painless. And too quick. He must suffer first. I’ll show you what I’m going to do.”

  Ned backed away in fear. “Show me?”

  “First I will embarrass and humiliate him,” Margolin declared. He threw a handful of black powder over the shoulder of his robe, chanted mysterious words in a low whisper, and pointed a crooked finger at Ned.

  “Ulllp.” Ned choked and grabbed his throat. “Can’t…breathe…” he gasped.

  He felt something large and heavy clogging his throat.

  Desperately, he struggled to suck in air. To cough the thing up.

  Straining his whole body, he coughed hard. Coughed again.

  He felt something furry slide up his throat. Into his mouth.

  Ned gagged. Gagged until his stomach heaved. Gagged and spit.

  “Ohhhh.” A fat, black rat slid out of his mouth, its patchy fur glistening. Eyes blazing red, the rat hissed at Ned as it scurried across the stone floor.

  “Please--” Ned begged.

  But Margolin just smiled. And…

  Ned’s throat clogged again.

  His neck bulged.

  He gagged and coughed. Bent double.

  Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe…

  Another rat, this one the size of a small dog, dropped wetly from his mouth.

  Weak and quivering, Ned dropped to his knees again. “Please, sir. Please…” He spit several times and pulled bristly rat hairs from his teeth. “I beg you--why are you doing this to me?”

  But Margolin wasn’t paying any attention to Ned. Now he was madly stirring liquids in a glass beaker. “First I treat Shamandra to a few fat rats. Then it’s pain time,” he said.

  He snapped his fingers,
muttered a few words, and stared at Ned.

  At first Ned didn’t feel anything. But then his arms began to itch. His legs tingled. The back of his neck prickled.

  He pulled up his sleeve--and gasped when he saw dozens of hairy brown spiders swarming over his arm.

  He swiped at them, tried to brush them off.

  But the spiders clung to his skin.

  His legs throbbed. His hair itched. He could feel the spiders digging into his scalp.

  “Please--please, sir--” he screamed.

  But the sorcerer kept his cold stare locked on Ned. He snapped his fingers again.

  “Aaaaaaaii!” Ned opened his mouth in a wail of pain. “No! Please--”

  Now all the spiders were burrowing into his skin. And then he could feel them crawling under his skin.

  Under his skin. Under his skin…

  He squirmed in agony. He slapped frantically at his arms and legs. Tore at his skin with his fingernails.

  He watched in horror as little bulges moved down his arms, inside his palms….

  Now he itched from inside.

  And all his clawing and scratching and slapping did nothing to ease the horrible, throbbing itching.

  “Please, stop it!” Ned shrieked. “It hurts! Ohhhh, it hurts!”

  “Good,” Margolin muttered to himself. “Very good. Yes. This spider spell will work nicely. A wonderful way to begin.”

  Margolin snapped his fingers. “Get up, fool. We have work to do.”

  The bulges under Ned’s skin went flat.

  The itching stopped.

  He climbed shakily to his feet.

  “I like that spell,” Margolin said, pulling glowing bottles and powders from the shelves. “The itching will drive Shamandra insane. The more he scratches, the deeper the spiders will dig into his flesh.”

  Margolin grinned. “Within minutes Shamandra will scratch all his skin off. As I watch with glee, he will scratch himself to death!”

  Ned shuddered. He could still feel the spiders’ prickly legs on his skin. He took a deep breath. “Sir, how can I help when Shamandra arrives?”

  Margolin turned from the shelves. “Help? You?” He sneered once again at his trembling apprentice. “You can’t help, idiot. Don’t you realize that you are doomed?”

  Ned gasped. “Doomed?”

  Margolin nodded. “I know Shamandra. I know his every move. When he arrives, it will be your last moment as a human. He will turn you into a lizard.”

  “A l-lizard?” Ned stammered.

  Margolin nodded. “Yes. He will want to insult me as soon as he appears. He will step into the room and turn you into a lizard. That will be his insult to me.”

  “No!” Ned cried. His hand shot out and bumped over a glass jar. A purple liquid spilled over the table.

  “You fool!” Margolin shrieked. He slapped the boy again, hard enough to send him reeling into the ladder.

  “The potion was ready to clot!” the sorcerer cried, staring at the oozing, purple liquid. “You have ruined it. I must start all over again.”

  Ned pulled himself up slowly. “Sorry,” he said. “But--when Shamandra turns me into a lizard, what will you do? Tell me!”

  “I shall keep you in a jar,” the sorcerer replied coldly. “And I will find a new apprentice in the village. An apprentice who isn’t a clumsy oaf.”

  “You won’t change me back to a boy?”

  “Why waste good magic?” the sorcerer replied.

  “Then…this might be my last day as a boy?” Ned asked in a tiny voice.

  Margolin frowned at him. “Stop thinking about yourself all the time,” he scolded. “I’m the one who has been challenged!”

  Suddenly Margolin uttered a sharp cry. His hands shot up in the air. “Help! I…I’m sinking!”

  Ned watched in amazement as Margolin’s body started sinking into the stone floor. The floor rocked and tilted and turned to a shimmering gray liquid. Small gray waves rolled across the stones.

  Margolin thrashed wildly in the thick, gray goo.

  “Trickery! More of Shamandra’s trickery!” Margolin howled. “He has improved. His magic is much stronger than when we last met.”

  The sorcerer sank to his shoulders. His hands furiously slapped the surface of the liquid. “Help me, idiot!” He stretched a wet, gray hand out to Ned.

  Ned tugged. Using all his strength, he pulled Margolin up from the sticky, wet goo. Cursing and sputtering, with lumpy, gray liquid running down his face, Margolin hoisted himself up beside Ned.

  Slowly the floor began to harden back to stone.

  “Why is Shamandra doing this?” Ned cried.

  “He’s jealous!” Margolin yelled, wiping chunks of goo from his beard. “He is a little man with little imagination. His castle is smaller than mine. And so are his powers. He has always wanted to defeat me.”

  Margolin stared across the room at a table laden with golden goblets and colorful jewels.

  “He wants my riches and my power, but he will never have them!”

  “Sir, I just saved your life,” Ned said. “So will you change your mind? Will you save my life when Shamandra arrives?”

  Margolin didn’t reply.

  “Please--” Ned pleaded. “Please, sir. Please spare me. Please rescue me. I’m begging you.”

  Margolin chuckled. “Dream on.”

  Ned returned to his room, a tiny cellar closet without windows. With a sigh he dropped onto the wooden cot that served as his bed.

  He leaned against the stone wall, shut his eyes, and tried to think. His stomach grumbled. For breakfast he usually ate Margolin’s leftovers. But this morning the snakes had ruined his appetite.

  Margolin’s cruel words echoed in Ned’s ear: “Don’t you realize that you are doomed?… He will turn you into a lizard… I shall keep you in a jar.”

  Ned shuddered. He pictured himself as a brown lizard, walking on four scaly legs, tail sliding over the floor, his tongue flicking out at insects.

  “Ned! Come here!” Ned’s eyes shot open at the sound of Margolin’s shout. “Lazy idiot, where are you? Prepare my lunch!”

  Ned spent a restless night. Lizards invaded his dreams. He awoke the next morning in a cold sweat, his heart racing.

  Would Shamandra arrive today?

  After breakfast Margolin ordered Ned to clear the table quickly.

  Ned couldn’t stop thinking about Shamandra. He dropped the serving platter, then the utensils. “S-sorry, sir.”

  “Fool,” Margolin muttered. “When you have finished dropping everything I own, meet me in the secret chamber. We have work to do.”

  Ned cleaned up quickly. Then he hurried to the secret chamber.

  To his surprise Margolin greeted him with a smile. “I have had a change of heart. I have decided to give you a chance to defend yourself against Shamandra.”

  “A ch-chance?” Ned asked surprised.

  Margolin nodded. He reached into the deep pocket of his robe and pulled out a small, shiny object. He handed it to Ned.

  Ned examined the smooth, silvery circle. “A common reflecting glass?” He stared at his face in the small mirror. “Sir, how can I protect myself with this?”

  “Simple,” Margolin replied, stroking his pointed beard. “When Shamandra begins to cast his spell to change you into a lizard, he will gesture toward you with his left hand. Raise the mirror at just the right moment and you will bounce the magic back at him.”

  Margolin stepped toward Ned. “Your timing must be perfect, boy.” He sighed. “It’s a small chance. But I decided you deserve it since you helped me yesterday.”

  Then Margolin added, “Maybe it will work. Maybe not. But it will distract Shamandra and give me time to cast my first spell. A good plan indeed!”

  Margolin started stirring powders in a large bowl. Ned walked to the fire and began practicing with the mirror. He held it at his side, then raised it quickly, aiming it in front of him.

  How much time did he have to practice?

&nb
sp; Shamandra arrived a few moments later.

  Ned gasped.

  Shamandra was short and slender. His bright-red robe hung down to the floor. His face was hidden behind a red wool hood. Only his eyes--icy, silvery eyes--were revealed.

  He strode slowly, calmly into the room. “Margolin,” Shamandra announced softly, “I am here.”

  Margolin laughed. “Shamandra, is your magic as weak as your voice?”

  “I…am…not…weak,” Shamandra replied, saying each word slowly, distinctly. “Sample the Winds of Destruction!”

  Shamandra raised his left hand high. Ned heard a howling sound, low at first, then louder, until it became a deafening roar.

  A blast of icy, cold wind shot through the room. Then another blast, so powerful it toppled jars and bottles from the shelves.

  The wind became a howling whirlwind.

  Ned dropped to the floor and raised his hands in front of his face. But the wind lifted him up, carried him high, and spun him around the room.

  “Nooooooo!” A terrified scream burst from his throat as the whirlwind smashed him into the stone wall.

  He hit hard. Pain shot through his body. He slid to the floor, dazed and panting.

  When he finally stood up, Ned saw Margolin point two fingers at Shamandra. “Your winds are as weak as your will!” Margolin declared angrily. “Shamandra, feel the Darkness of Death!”

  The sorcerer’s chamber plunged into darkness.

  Not a normal darkness, but a deep blackness. A black hole. As if the darkness had seeped up from under the ground.

  And suddenly Ned felt himself falling…falling helplessly, plunging down, down…into the blackness.

  “Oh!” Ned uttered a sharp cry as he felt the hard stone floor again. He blinked at the sudden brightness.

  Shamandra stood with both hands raised. “A clever spell, Margolin,” he said. “But easy to stop.”

  He turned his eerie, silver eyes on Ned. “Is he yours?” he asked Margolin. “How would you like a lizard for an apprentice?”

  Shamandra raised his left hand.

  Ned’s breath caught in his throat. The reflecting glass! Where was it?

  There it was. On the floor where he had dropped it during the Darkness of Death spell.