Terrifying Tales

by Jon Scieszka

  My brother wasn’t at breakfast. “Mom’s not ready,” he had said. He waited for me outside. When I met him on the front sidewalk, he was eating something crunchy, but he turned away so I wouldn’t see. He didn’t look so good—kind of pale, and thin in the cheeks. I hoped he wasn’t getting sick.

  “Just a minute,” I said, and I ran to the other side of the cul-de-sac to knock on Jamal’s door. He had been sick since Sunday, and I wanted to show him my new brother. He’d never have believed it otherwise.

  Jamal’s mother answered the door with a two-year-old on one hip and a five-year-old attached to one leg. She wore stockings and heels and a jacket that looked like a suit but it’s for ladies. She works for the governor. She also sends a lot of emails, like my dad. I wondered if her laptop also caught on fire.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” she said. “Jamal is still sick. And the nanny is late. And all kinds of heck is breaking loose around here. You haven’t seen our nanny, have you? She was supposed to be here an hour ago.”

  I hadn’t, so I waved good-bye and went to find my brother. He was standing next to a backpack and a bicycle lying on the ground. The backpack had a patch on it from a band that I’ve never heard, but that Jamal’s nanny has said again and again is the best ever, but she can’t play them for us because they use too many swears.

  “Don’t those belong to the nanny?” I asked.

  My brother burped. “I don’t think so,” he said.

  “Whose stuff is this?”

  “It all belonged to someone. But now I think it belongs to the ground.”

  Like I said, my brother was new around here. There was a lot he didn’t understand. And so we went to school.

  I tried to tell my teacher about my brother, but I could barely see her over the stack of papers on her desk. She used a rubber stamp to grade each paper. “Try a little harder,” the stamp said. She stamped each paper the exact same way.

  The seat next to mine was Jamal’s, but since he wasn’t there, I told my brother to sit there instead. Right away, he wiggled and fidgeted in his seat.

  “I don’t think I like school,” he said.

  “No one likes school,” I said. “But we all still have to go.”

  My brother started doodling on Jamal’s stuff. He ripped out a piece of notebook paper, wrote something down, folded it up in the shape of a star, and passed it to me. “I wish I was home,” the note said. I rolled my eyes. I folded the note back up in its star shape, and put it in my pocket.

  “Yeah, me too. We’ll get back before you know it.”

  My brother was kind of whiny, I started to realize. And I was annoyed. But if there’s one thing I learned from Jamal, brothers—even, apparently, the ones that show up after a wish—are kind of annoying.

  “I’m hungry,” my brother said. There were dark circles under his eyes. His skin was as pale as bone.

  “Well,” I said. “You should have come down to breakfast. You need to eat, you know.”

  “I did,” he complained.

  “Really? What did you eat?”

  My brother burped again—a loud, juicy one. An earring popped out of his mouth. “Um, nothing,” my brother said.

  “Okay, students,” my teacher said. “Everybody up and check your job chart. Tasks are to be completed in ten minutes.”

  We all got up and checked the job chart. It changed every day. Today, I was in charge of arranging the markers by color. Other kids had to take out the recycling or the trash, or take the lunch orders to the main office. I saw that Jamal was in charge of feeding Humphrey, our class hamster. I was about to tell my brother to do it, but I didn’t see him anywhere. So slippery, that guy! I thought. I organized the markers and sat down. My brother sat down next to me with a large bulge in one cheek. It wriggled a bit.

  “Hey,” I said. “What’s that in your—” But I couldn’t finish.

  “Children?” my teacher gasped. “Oh my goodness, children! Where is Humphrey?”

  My brother gulped. Then, he started to whistle.

  That’s when I started getting suspicious.

  We searched every nook and cranny, but it was no use. Humphrey was gone.

  My brother rubbed his belly.

  That’s it, I thought.

  My brother and I didn’t talk very much on the way home.

  “Why are you walking so fast?” my brother said. He was walking funny—a sort of shuffly, stumbly lope. And his eyes were starting to smudge, as though they were slicked with ink instead of tears. Every time he blinked, they were a little bit darker. He licked his lips. Even his tongue looked weird. Also, he was starting to stink—like old eggs.

  “Walkin’ normal,” I said, even though I wasn’t. I wasn’t at all. I was hurrying. My brother stumbled. He started falling farther and farther behind. I didn’t care.

  “I’m hungry,” he whined. I walked even faster. I glanced back and saw my brother hungrily eyeing a squirrel in a tree. I turned the corner and ran straight to Jamal’s house.

  His grandma answered the door. I was surprised to see her.

  “Where’s the nanny?” I asked.

  Mrs. Watkins shrugged. “Never showed up,” she said. She patted my cheek. “Oh, don’t look so worried! I’m sure it was just a mix-up.”

  But I was sure it wasn’t. I handed her an envelope. The outside said, “For Jamal’s eyes only.” I had underlined the word “only” ten times so his brothers would know it wasn’t for them.

  “Is he feeling better?” I asked. “Jamal, I mean.”

  “He’s on the mend. He was bouncing off the walls just a little bit ago, wanting to check on you. He went on and on about something following you out of the scrub lot, but I’m sure that was just the fever. Because you boys know better than to go under that fence.” She let that sit for a minute while she gave me a hard look.

  “Umm,” I said. “Right. Could you give him this note please?”

  She said she would and I took off, running like a demon to the corner and waiting there like it was no big deal. I watched my brother as he came up over the rise. He smiled when he saw me. I guess he wasn’t hungry anymore. His teeth flashed in the afternoon light. They were thin and pointy and sharp as knives.

  Owen waited for us at the screen door. He arched his back and showed his teeth. He pressed his ears flat against the top of his skull. My brother licked his lips.

  “Nice kitty,” he said. “Sweet kitty.”

  Owen screeched.

  “I don’t think you should go through the front door,” I said. “Climb through the window instead.”

  “Are you sure? I’m feeling ready to be part of the family. Or to have the family be part of me. It means the same thing, you know.”

  “It doesn’t mean the same thing at all,” I said. “Just climb through the window and stop arguing.”

  “You said you wanted me. You wrote it down and everything.”

  “I did,” I soothed. “I mean I do. I just don’t think Mom is ready to meet you.” I paused. “Yet,” I added hastily.

  “Mom is sweet,” he said, and his eyes got even darker.

  “Off you go,” I said.

  I watched him climb the trellis into my room.

  “WE DON’T EAT MOMS!” I called to him as he reached my window.

  “We’ll see,” my brother called back.

  I went into the kitchen and grabbed everything I could think of. Cold cuts. Cheese. A Tupperware of yesterday’s stew.

  “Boy,” my sister said, throwing a handful of OatieBits at me. I grabbed the box.

  My brother was waiting for me on my bed. His color looked a little better, and his eyes, while dark, had a bright sheen to them. He must have just eaten, I figured. I glanced around the room and saw that all of my fish and one of my guinea pigs were nowhere to be seen. I frowned.

  “I don’t think I want a brother anymore,” I said.

  “Everyone says that,” my brother said. “But secretly they love their brothers very much. This is common know
ledge.”

  “But I mean it.”

  “Well. It’s too late. A wish is a wish.” And then he smiled. The razor edges of his teeth flashed. I shivered.

  Owen hissed at the other side of the door.

  It was right then when I realized that I really loved that cat. And that I always had.

  That night, after we brushed our teeth, my brother made a big show about getting into my bed and pulling the covers up to his chin with a sigh.

  “That’s not where you sleep,” I said. I did not say, You sleep under the bed with the monsters out loud, but I thought it.

  “My bed now,” he said. “It’s your turn to take the floor. He closed his eyes. “Hmmmmm. Am I hungry or tired? That is the question. I can’t seem to be able to decide.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll take the floor. Just go to sleep, will you?”

  When Mom came in to kiss me good night, she kissed my brother instead. She didn’t notice his sharp teeth or his bone-pale skin or his inky eyes. “Good night, my little zookeeper,” she said, kissing my brother’s forehead.

  “Oh, Mom,” he said. “You are just so sweet.”

  I kicked the mattress. No one noticed.

  “I’m here too, Mom,” I said. She didn’t say anything. I don’t think she heard me.

  “Mom,” my brother said. “I’m scared there’s something under the bed. Will you check for me?” He was trying, and failing, to keep from laughing. Like this was the funniest thing in the world.

  “You’re too old for that, honey,” Mom said.

  “Do it anyway,” he insisted with a snicker.

  “Fine.” She knelt down, knees cracking, and laid her hands on the ground. She rested her head on the floor. She looked right at me. I smiled. She stared right past my face to the shadowed wall.

  “I don’t see anything, honey,” she said, her eyes losing their focus.

  I felt my skin go cold.

  “Nothing at all?” my brother said with a giggle.

  “Nothing at all,” Mom said with a yawn.

  “Well. I guess we should be careful what we wish for,” my brother said.

  But he wasn’t saying that to Mom. He was talking to me.

  I didn’t think I’d fall asleep after that, but I guess I must have. Later that night I had a dream about the unbuildable land. I don’t think my mom and dad ever knew about the well. They certainly never mentioned it. But in my dream, there they both were, standing at the edge of the well, peering down into the darkness.

  “Whoever dug a well that deep sure didn’t want anything coming back up,” my mom said.

  “There’s a reason why you’re not allowed back here, Arne,” Dad said. “When will you listen?”

  I woke up to the sound of my sister.

  “Bad Boy,” she said. “Bad Boy.”

  I scrambled out from under the bed. It was the middle of the night, and the house was quiet except for my sister’s voice. My brother stood in the hallway. His face was so pale and gaunt, it looked more like a skull than a face. His eyes were still black, but his pupils took on a bit of a reddish glow. In his hands was the soup pot. In the soup pot was my sister. “Boy,” she said, pointing to me. “Bad Boy,” she said, pointing to my brother.

  “We don’t eat babies,” I said firmly. I lifted my sister out of the pot and directed my brother downstairs. “Especially not sisters.”

  “But I’m so hungry,” he complained. I gave him the bag of cat food. I don’t know how much was in there, but it had to be at least ten pounds. He ate it greedily. All of it. I held my sister on my hip, both arms tight around her body. She stared at my brother and wrinkled her nose.

  “Bad Boy,” she said. “Yuck.”

  It wasn’t going to hold off his hunger forever, I knew that. But I figured it would satisfy him at least until the next morning. Which was all I needed. Because I had a plan.

  I slept on the floor of my sister’s room for the rest of that night. Owen guarded the door to my mom’s room. I realized with a start that one of my rabbits was missing. I hadn’t noticed it before. Some zookeeper I am.

  I wondered about my rats. I hoped they made it out okay.

  Before the sun came up, I went to the window to see if Jamal’s reading light was on. It was. He usually woke up early to read because he is an overachiever—something that I used to make fun of him about, but vowed to never do again. I tapped the window a few times, and flickered the light next to the window to get his attention.

  Remember what I told you before about Morse Code? Seriously, everyone should learn it.

  I left the light on and grabbed the handle on the shade, pulling it down and letting it up, over and over in long and short pulses. I waited, hoping he had seen the whole message.

  Jamal waited for a minute. Then he sent two messages back.

  The first one was: “I told you so.”

  The second one was: “I’ll be waiting for you in front of the house at seven.”

  I brought my sister downstairs and put her in her high chair. My dad was already sitting at the table, his hands tapping the placemat as if it might suddenly turn into a new laptop.

  “Look who’s so helpful,” he said, picking up his newspaper and starting to read.

  “Good Boy,” my sister said. I rubbed her head. She wasn’t so bad, really, as babies go.

  My brother came into the kitchen. He sat next to my dad. My dad didn’t seem to notice there were two boys in the room. He kept reading his newspaper like everything was normal. My sister kept trying to explain it to him.

  “Bad Boy,” my sister said, pointing at my brother. She threw OatieBits at him. My dad still didn’t get it. Maybe this thing with my brother was like the trail in the unbuildable land—you can only really notice the situation if you know where to look.

  “How did you sleep, Arne?” my dad said to his newspaper.

  “Not so good, Pop,” my brother said. I realized that his fingernails had grown. They curved out of his fingertips like talons.

  “Hmmm,” Dad said, turning the page. “Maybe you should eat something.”

  My brother shot a look at my sister.

  “Bad Boy,” my sister said again.

  “That’s not fair, sweetie,” my dad said, turning the page. “Your brother is a very good boy.”

  I handed my brother the entire plate of English muffins.

  “Depends on how you look at it, Dad,” I said. He still didn’t notice that there were two of us. He turned the page again. “Sometimes I’m good and sometimes I’m bad. Like everyone, I suppose.”

  “Boy,” my sister said to me. “Bad Boy,” she said to my brother. She had no trouble telling us apart.

  My brother gave a long, hungry look at my sister before letting his face fall heavily on the plate, swallowing English muffin after English muffin without even chewing them first.

  “Don’t be a piggy, Arne,” my dad said, turning the page.

  “Sorry, Dad,” my brother and I said in unison.

  “I’m still hungry,” my brother whispered.

  “Come on,” I said. “I know how to fix that.”

  I said good-bye to my dad and my sister while my brother ate an entire dozen eggs—raw, shells and all, throwing each one up and catching it in his mouth with a crunch and a swallow. My mom told me to take out the trash and told my brother to make sure to bring home the Picture Day forms. She didn’t notice we were separate people either.

  Jamal waited for us on his front steps.

  He looked at me.

  He looked at my brother. He shook his head slowly.

  “I’m hungry,” my brother said, staring at Jamal.

  Jamal rolled his eyes. “Oh, for crying out loud,” he said. He glared at me. “Didn’t I tell you about brothers? Well? Didn’t I?”

  “I know,” I said.

  “Has he been wrecking stuff?” Jamal asked. He gave my brother a hard look. “Brothers are always wrecking stuff. It’s what they do.”

  “You don’t kn
ow the half of it,” I said.

  “Are you sweet?” my brother asked.

  “No,” Jamal said, showing his teeth. “I’m poisonous. Ask my brothers.”

  My brother slumped a bit. “Oh,” he said. “Darn.”

  “Come on,” I said, slipping my arms into my backpack straps. “Let’s go to the picnic spot.” I gave Jamal a sharp look. “You know which one I’m talking about, right?”

  “We’re going to eat?” my brother said, brightening up.

  “Yup. Lots of stuff.” I took his hand and pulled him along. “We’re gonna have a feast.”

  “Meow,” Owen the cat said, following a safe distance behind.

  We ran to the edge of the subdivision and crawled under the fence. The sky turned dark, and huge gray clouds swirled over the tops of the cottonwood trees, making them creak and moan. The trail was hard to see, even when we were looking for it. And the air smelled gross. Like old eggs.

  “What’s that smell?” Jamal said, wrinkling his nose.

  “I know that smell,” my brother said, and he had a wistful look on his face.

  “Of course you do,” I said. “Home sweet home.”

  “Sweet,” my brother said, and he closed his eyes.

  This is going to sound strange to you—heck, it sounds strange to me, and I was there—but I knew right then that I was going to miss my brother. Despite everything. Because he was my brother, you know?

  And I couldn’t undo my wish—I knew I couldn’t. But what if my brother made a wish? What if I tricked him into making one?

  There were rocks in my bag. Three of them. With notes. And there was rope in my bag, too. I just hoped my plan would work.

  It had to work.

  I really didn’t want my baby sister to turn into anyone’s breakfast, least of all my brother’s. And I was the only one who could stop it.

  We got to the edge of the well and sat down. I opened my bag and pulled out a sandwich for my brother. He ate it without swallowing. I tossed him another, and another and another. Each one, he snatched from the air, like he was a trained dolphin. Snap, snap, snap, went his jaws. He swallowed each one with a choke and a gulp. And each time his jaws opened wider and wider and wider, like a rusty hinge working out the kinks.