Tales from the Haunted Mansion Vol. 1: The Fearsome Foursome

by Amicus Arcane

By now, you know the rules of being scared witless. Let’s review. One: Noah froze in place. Two: Noah dropped the floaty. Ribbit–plop.

  The tentacle slid under his foot and curled around his ankle. It was as cold and unforgiving as the sea. In an instant, it lifted Noah from the ground. It could just as easily have crushed him, but the sea creature preferred its sustenance alive and kicking and afraid. As it hoisted him toward the roof, Noah realized he had no one to blame but himself. Spitefulness had led him there. Still, that wasn’t the way he planned on going out.

  With one last-ditch effort, Noah shoved his hand into the supply bin and came out with a fistful of white powder. Without thinking, he flung it into the monster’s eye. Grrrrrrrrrr! It burned; it stung! The tentacle released Noah and started flopping about like it was on fire. Clang! Clung! Cling! It slammed into all four walls of its metal enclosure. Noah scurried back into the corner, watching in terror as the thick tentacle retreated through the broken roof.

  He was thankful to be alive. Right away, he understood what had saved him. It was that powder! Noah checked the supply bin and saw the sack of shock treatment. As it turned out, the best weapon against ancient sea creatures was good old-fashioned chlorine! Not such a waste of Philip’s money after all.

  Noah sprung to his feet—sprung being a relative term. He now had a weapon, and it was time to wage war, Gilman-style.

  Noah loaded the sack into the wheelbarrow. The creature’s limbs had retreated back into the pool, where the nameless monstrosity felt safe. Noah wheeled the shock treatment across the yard, maneuvering over and around the countless tentacle tracks engraved throughout the lawn.

  Arriving poolside, he spotted Philip and Dots, their heads barely above water. Using a plastic shovel the part-time dude from Pools 4 Fools had thrown in for free, Noah began heaving the powder into the unswimmable swimming pool.

  The reaction was swift and powerful. The sea creature wailed another supersonic boom—EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!—blowing out the remaining windows. Its tentacles thrashed aimlessly about, pounding the walls of the pool. Noah backed away, fearing it might burst.

  It didn’t.

  The once mighty sea creature was now spinning out of control in an unrelenting whirlpool of its own creation. Noah watched with awe and perhaps a touch of pity. A change was taking place. The creature was shrinking right before his startled eyes, getting smaller, smaller, smaller… until it matched the illustration in the ad, in both size and appearance. With a final sucking sound, the ancient thing spiraled down into the pool drain, along with every last molecule of salt water.

  And then there was silence as the first rays of sunlight entered the yard.

  Noah stood up as he listened to the first sounds of the day. The song of the morning bird. A lawn mower revving up next door. And children laughing. Those were the best sounds he knew. They were the sounds of summer.

  Noah closed his eyes, soaking it all in…until he remembered. “Philip and Dots!” He retrieved the ladder and climbed to the top rung, peering down into the pool. The water was all gone. It was empty except for Philip, sitting by the drain, with Dots nestled in his arms. “You saved us. You’re a hero.” Philip got to his feet, extending his hand. “My hero.”

  Noah hesitated. Was this for real? Well, considering what he’d just been through, it was no less real than an ancient sea creature. Noah decided to go for it. He shook Philip’s hand for the first time in about a year, and he had to admit it felt pretty good. But Philip wasn’t done. He pulled Noah in for a hug, whispering, “I’m proud of you, Son,” into his ear.

  Now, in the interest of full disclosure, this wasn’t the longest hug. And it wasn’t even the warmest. But for Noah, it was a pretty great start.

  And can you believe it? Dots—even Dots!—jumped up to give Noah a thank-you lick! Well, don’t believe it. The dang dog still didn’t like him. But from that moment on, things were going to change for the better around there. Philip even said the words: “From this moment on, things are going to change for the better around here.”

  Noah thought about his dad, and he smiled. He smiled about the past. And for once, he could smile about the future.

  Noah smiled right up to the moment when a regenerated tentacle burst up from the drain and dragged him, kicking and screaming, into the deepest primordial recesses of the earth.

  The librarian finished reading. “Shock treatment, indeed.” He looked up from the page, eyeing the individual faces of the Fearsome Foursome. “Critiques? Comments?”

  “Dumb,” blurted Steve. He looked at Noah to see if he agreed.

  “Dumb,” repeated Noah before adding, “but…it’s true about the pool. We’re opening it next weekend.” He winced as he touched a nasty patch of sunburn on his shoulder.

  The librarian acquiesced. “A strange coincidence. Death imitating art. Or is it art imitating death? I never can get that right.”

  Like the others, Noah was demanding answers. “What do you want from us?” he shouted in a voice that would do Philip proud.

  “What do I want? I thought I made that perfectly clear.” The librarian made a sweeping gesture with his hand, alluding to his books. “Tales such as your own were meant to be heard.”

  At that point, the others were no longer looking for a way out. Not even Willa, a revelation which pleased the librarian to no end. “You’ve decided to stay?”

  “Do we have a choice?” Willa asked, already knowing the answer. She was nobody’s fool. “None of us can leave until we hear the last story. That’s how it works, isn’t it?”

  The librarian lit a candle and looked at them with a calm expression. “I suppose, I suppose.”

  Steve got up in his face. He was red with anger. Or maybe terror. “All right, old man, get it over with! Read mine!”

  “Do I dare?” questioned the librarian, wearing a considerably sinister grimace, for the librarian was harboring a grave secret all his own. Yes, they were nearing that part of the evening he enjoyed the most.

  He opened to the final tale and began to read….

  A fate worse than death. Think about that. It has to be pretty bad to beat dying. The eternal sleep. Kicking the bucket. Whatever they call it around your house. Let’s indulge in a little list of what some of these fiendish delights might be.

  Let’s see….Getting eaten alive. That should qualify. Whittled down to the bone by a shark, or a bear. Or worse, a school of hungry piranha. “Yum-yum.”

  How about a dip in boiling acid? Feeling the flesh melt from your bones. “Mind if I skip my bath tonight, Mother?”

  Or paper cut torture. Hours upon hours of…Well, I suppose that one’s self-explanatory, right? There are countless fates worse than plain old death. Why not make a list of your own? Go on. We’ll wait.

  But near the top of everyone’s list—at least for those of us who think about such things—is the terror of being buried alive. It has been since the beginning of human existence. Think about it for a moment. You wake up in a coffin. Can’t see a thing. There is no light. You can barely move. It’s a very tight fit. All there is to do, once you realize what’s happening, is scream. And nobody can hear you—that is, except for the worms. And all you’ve done is save them the job of finding you. That would unequivocally be a fate worse than death.

  It is also the subject of our final tale. Therefore, if you find the thought of being buried alive objectionable or the subject matter distasteful, by all means, go read Sallie’s Silly Sewing Circle.

  Still here, foolish reader? Very well, I warned you.

  Steve, Steve, Steve. He had that reputation to protect. It might have been the wavy black hair. Or the roguish smile. Yet in reality, Steve never got into fights or did any of those things bad boys were generally known for. He didn’t deny that he did them, either, which was how he kept his rep intact. The same way he didn’t announce his loyalty to the Fearsome Foursome. The fact that Steve was a reader, and that he liked to invent stories, did not go hand in hand with being one of th
e cool kids. Or the king of dares, as he was known throughout the school.

  What exactly is a king of dares? Well, it’s not a position you’re born into. Or elected to. It’s a title you have to earn.

  It started innocently enough, as a game to pass the time during recess. Each day, students gathered for a round of “I Dare You to…” It’s sort of like Truth or Dare, if you’re familiar with that. The first player poses a challenge, which the other player has to decide whether or not to accept. The dares were usually pretty harmless (or dumb, take your pick). They ranged from hopping on one foot around the lunchroom to saying something borderline inappropriate to Ms. Greene, the uptight health teacher. So far, no one had gotten into any real trouble. Although Andy Kenderson did receive an in-school suspension for picking his nose while placing his lunch order. Yet, it’s important to note, Andy won the dare.

  But this is Steve’s story. Steve-o to his pals. The once and future king of dares. You see, Steve never backed away from a challenge. Not once. Not ever.

  That is, until Roland Price moved to town. Now, we always hear how hard it is for a new kid entering a new school, but that wasn’t the case for Roland, or Rolly, as he was known. It wasn’t that he was particularly good at sports. Or that he was fast with a joke, or that he had the hottest looks. In any of those departments, Rolly Price could be generously described as average. But it was during recess that his true gifts came to the forefront. You see, Rolly Price had no fear—not of anything. It might have had something to do with moving around so much—eleven schools in eight years—but nothing scared him. Well, almost nothing. We’ll get to that.

  If you dared Rolly to swallow a worm, he’d do it and then make a yummy face, suggesting he liked it. Hopping around the lunchroom? Kids’ stuff. Rolly once crab-walked into the principal’s office to ask the time.

  The kids at recess hooted and hollered. Even Ellie, the petite cheerleader Steve had spent an entire semester trying to woo, had officially declared Rolly the new king of dares.

  Yes, Steve had been dethroned. Every challenge he threw Rolly’s way was taken on and mastered. Staring contests, silent treatments, breath holding, musical note holding, eating, drinking, wedgies, nose picking—you name it. Rolly Price out-dared him at every turn. And that’s what pushed Steve to a place he never should have gone. To the ultimate dare—a dare that would cost him more than his silly little title.

  But first Steve needed to discover Rolly’s weakness, if a weakness actually existed. He spent several days and nights racking his brains. What could it be? He tried everything there was to try and was at his wit’s end when the fearful finger of fate intervened. Steve was by his locker just before eighth period when Tim ran over with the news. “You hear what happened to Rolly today? He got stuck in the janitor’s closet and totally freaked out.”

  At first Steve was concerned. “Is he okay?”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s fine. It was only for, like, a minute or two. But when the janitor unlocked the door, Rolly flew out screaming. He could hardly walk—he didn’t even know where he was.”

  “For real?”

  “For real.” And that was when Tim provided Steve with the gift he’d been looking for. “Rolly told the janitor—get this—that he suffers from extreme claustrophobia!”

  Extreme claustrophobia. Yesssss! Steve was giddy beyond words. Rolly Price had a weakness after all: a fear of tight spaces. Immediately, the wheels started turning. All he needed was the perfect dare, one Rolly couldn’t complete even if he wanted to. A ghoulish idea entered Steve’s mind. He had just the challenge. A real doozy.

  The next day during recess, the current king of dares was holding court by the swings. Steve had been spying from behind the bleachers, and he saw Ellie laughing at one of Rolly’s recycled jokes and another dude nodding, as if Rolly really was the most popular kid in school. It was time to take him down. Like in the good old days, a king was about to be beheaded.

  Steve approached the swings with a bit of the old swagger that usually got him noticed. Except that day, the only one who saw him coming was Rolly. “Yo, Steve-o. S’up?”

  “Nothing but the sky, Rolly.” Crickets. Not even a sympathy chuckle. Steve quickly dispensed with the pleasantries. “You up for a final round?”

  The other kids scattered like it was the Old West and a shoot-out was imminent.

  Rolly remained where he was, a king on his swinging throne. As cool as a corpse. “How many times, Steve-o? How many times you need to be defeated in public?”

  “That mean you’re scared?”

  You could literally have heard a pin drop, but seriously, who brings a pin to recess? Rolly hopped down from the swing. He was smaller than Steve, but you wouldn’t know it. Confidence made him a giant. “I suggest taking off before you lose what little rep you got left.”

  Steve shook his head. “Guess that means you really are scared.”

  If he was, Rolly didn’t show it. “Name it. Right now. Throw down your best dare.”

  “I really don’t think you could handle it, Roll. We all heard about the closet.”

  The others looked at Steve, and somebody yelled out, “Shots fired!” Steve gave Rolly a condescending pat on the head. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ellie climb down from the monkey bars. Steve must have had something “real” in mind, or he wouldn’t have posed the challenge in front of everyone. And Rolly wasn’t stupid. He knew it would be based on his fear of tight spaces. But he also knew that if he chickened out, he’d lose everything he’d gained; he’d be nothing more than the new kid again.

  Steve headed for the blacktop and Rolly followed, an entourage of students in tow. “On one condition!” Rolly declared.

  Steve didn’t slow up. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “Winner takes all. The loser has to admit defeat in front of the entire school.”

  “Naturally.”

  “And one more thing…”

  Steve glanced over his shoulder. He could tell from the smirk on Rolly’s pudgy little face that he thought he had the deal breaker. “Name it.”

  “The loser has to publicly address the winner as His Royal Highness. Forever.”

  That made Steve laugh. “Fine by me. So? We ready to do this?”

  By that point, the crowd had increased by exponential proportions. Kids seemed to be everywhere: standing on fences, piled on shoulders. How had that happened? Did they bus them in from other schools? Still, it was no skin off Steve’s back. He welcomed an audience and proceeded with the formal introduction: “I dare you to…” He paused and the crowd leaned in—those same kids who’d once thought him the coolest. And soon would again.

  Rolly was all out of patience. “Well?”

  Steve suppressed his smile. “I dare you to…spend one full hour locked in a coffin.” Then came the smile. He knew he had the ultimate dare, and an audible gasp told him the crowd agreed. But Rolly’s reaction—that was the kicker. His knees buckled. Just for a second, but long enough for Steve to notice.

  Yes, he was afraid. Rolly Price was human, after all. “Yes or no? Do you accept the dare?” Steve demanded. Beads of sweat trickled from Rolly’s forehead. Now the crowd was chanting: “Accept! Accept! Accept!”

  Rolly thought about it. He thought, Easy for them. They don’t have to spend two seconds locked in a coffin, let alone one hour! He knew he couldn’t accept Steve’s dare. Things had gone far enough already. But there’s something about peer pressure that makes smart people do incredibly stupid things. And before Rolly knew what he was saying, the words “I accept your dare” slipped off his tongue.

  The crowd stopped chanting and Steve stopped smiling. That was unexpected. Upon hearing the dare, Rolly was supposed to melt into a glob of jelly. Mop him up, stick him in a jar, and send him back to wherever he came from! But no. The new kid didn’t back down. Not really.

  “I accept. With one more condition.”

  “I figured there might be. Name it, buddy boy.”

  Rolly pul
led out his trump card. “The coffin—it has to be real. Not that fake cardboard junk they sell at Parties 4 Smarties. If you can’t provide a real, honest-to-goodness coffin, then your dare is a dud—a forfeit—declaring me the winner.” Rolly had thrown the challenge back into Steve’s lap. Real coffins were expensive, not to mention difficult to come by. There was no conceivable way a middle school kid could come up with a real one. But Steve was holding a wild card of his own. An ace in the hole. Like a skeleton in the grave.

  “I got a real coffin.”

  Rolly saw at once that Steve wasn’t bluffing. “H-how? W-what? W-where?” he stammered.

  “My cousin Drew. He drives a hearse for the Davis Family Funeral Home.” Rolly literally gulped. The “literally” comes in because you rarely hear anyone gulp in real life. It’s about as rare as a double take.

  “I wouldn’t want to get your cousin in any trouble,” said Rolly. Kind of a weak retort.

  “Let me worry about the Drew-meister. You just worry about showing up on time. This Saturday. After hours. Drew has total access. Including a coffin with your name on it.”

  Ellie snuggled up next to Steve, as if she’d always been there. The rest of the crowd shifted to his side of the blacktop. Once again, it was Rolly against the world. Steve extended his hand. “Saturday night we end this.” They shook on it, sealing the dare.

  For Steve, Saturday night couldn’t get there fast enough, because all the preparations had been made. What preparations? Oh, you’ll find out. And you’ll be sorry when you do.

  Well, Saturday night arrived—as it always does—and Steve found himself waiting outside the Davis Family Funeral Home, as arranged. The sign had just flickered off; they were closed for the evening. The funny thing about funeral homes is that most of them look like regular houses, where regular families might live. Except they aren’t. This one was painted all white, with black shutters and matching trim. Not very menacing in the daytime. But daylight wouldn’t be returning for another eight hours.