We have music playing in the background, but unlike all the other times when we hang out, we aren’t singing along or talking. We are in work mode. There are only a few hours to get everything set out, and that means there’s no room for messing around.
I grab a hose and start filling the swamp from a spigot in the wall, then move on to my new addition: a gazebo.
Really, it’s just a few pieces of wood I’m going to paint white, but it will look like a little hut when I’m through, a shadowy archway with just enough space to hide the ghost bride. An archway the guests have to walk past to exit. I’ve had the image ever since waking up this morning. It will be the last scare the guests encounter, and I want it to be good. They’ll walk past and the ghost bride will leap from the shadows with a vicious wail. I’ve already started writing up a script to tell the guests as I guide them through the cemetery. The story of the ghost bride will be front and center.
I just have to figure out how to get her from Mr. Evans’s care. And how to convince my friends that it’s a good idea to do it. I kind of doubt that Patricia sabotaged us last year, so it’s okay that we stole a prop this year will do it.
“I did some reading last night,” Julie says.
“Oh?” Tanesha chimes in. “You finally learned how?”
“Hah hah,” Julie replies. “I was reading about the bride. You know, the one whose dress Kevin tore up yesterday.”
That makes me really pay attention to their conversation.
“I didn’t do anything to the dress!” I call out. I can feel my pulse in my chest; the moment Julie mentioned the ghost bride, I felt like I was going to be sick.
“Right. You just smashed her head apart. Much better.” I look over to catch Julie rolling her eyes. “Anyway, I was reading up about her. It’s a really sad story. Did you know that the family didn’t just keep the wedding dress; they kept a mannequin dressed in the gown just because they couldn’t bear letting their daughter go? Some people even say she was buried in the dress before her parents took it back. It’s so sad.”
“That’s not sad—that’s weird,” Tanesha says. “And creepy. But creepy in a what-were-they-thinking sort of way.”
“I don’t know,” Julie says, softer. “I thought it was sort of sweet. They wanted her memory to live on. You should have seen the pictures.”
She read the same article as me. Of course she did! I swallow. They’ve brought it up. Time to see if they’re on board with this change of plans.
“I think it’s a good story,” I say. “I mean, it’s really creepy. And it happened right here in Happy Hills. Honestly, I think it would be cool if we had her in the exhibit. That would really creep everyone out, especially if they knew the story.”
“No way,” Julie says. “That’s just wrong. We should leave her be.”
“What do you mean, her?” I ask. “It’s just a dress on a mannequin.”
“But she was buried in that dress,” Julie says. “Doesn’t that creep you out?”
“Yeah,” I say. I look at Tanesha when I say it. I can’t read her expression at all. “But that’s the point, isn’t it? I mean, if it scares me …”
“No way,” Julie says. “I’m not going to be in the same room as that thing.”
I sigh. A part of me wants to back down. She’s right—it’s creepy, and it’s probably disrespectful. But the rest of me refuses to give in. That part tells me it isn’t disrespectful at all. I’m putting her back on display. Introducing her story to an entirely new group of people. Isn’t that better than having the mannequin locked away in a dusty storeroom?
Patricia’s face floats in front of my vision, and that squashes any thoughts I might have had about backing down. I know the ghost bride story will win us this competition. I don’t want to lie, but it’s clearly the only way to win.
It worked for Patricia.
“Fine,” I say. I lower my head. “But I want to do a ghostly bride anyway. I think it’s a good story. I’ll just go get a dress from the costume shop. I think I might have a spare mannequin in storage.”
“Fine,” Julie says. “Just so long as you promise it won’t be the same mannequin. That thing creeped me out.”
“Promise,” I lie.
Tanesha catches my eye. I know that look all too well: She knows I’m not telling the truth.
Thankfully, she doesn’t call me out on it.
We get back to work. Every once in a while, I catch Tanesha looking at me.
As if she knows that there’s something creepy going on.
As if she knows that the ghost bride is a part of it, and I’m intent on bringing the story back to life.
“How is everything coming together?” Poppa Jared asks.
We sit around the dinner table eating spaghetti with homemade sauce and breadsticks and a big Caesar salad.
“Yeah,” Poppa Blake continues. “Are you feeling good about everything?”
I grumble a “Yeah, fine,” and continue eating my spaghetti. I hope that’s enough for them to move on to the next subject, like how Poppa Jared’s workday was or even if I have any homework tonight. Anything to distract them from asking about the haunted basement.
But of course they don’t want to talk about something else. Not when it’s all I’ve been wanting to talk about all year.
“What’s wrong, Kevin?” Poppa Jared asks.
“Nothing, PJ,” I say. It’s our nickname for him. Poppa Blake is PB. PB&J. Made for each other, just like peanut butter and jelly.
They know me too well to let me get away with my lie. They can tell something’s wrong.
“Let me guess,” PB says. “I bet it’s a person and I bet their name rhymes with Morticia.”
“Oooh, good Addams Family reference,” PJ adds.
I grumble and don’t say anything, just slurp down more spaghetti. They’re not wrong, but they’re not fully right either. We didn’t get nearly as much done as I wanted to today. I still haven’t figured out how to sneak the mannequin out of the broom closet. I’m lying to my friends.
But, in the end, it is all Patricia’s fault, so it’s not like I’m lying to my parents, too.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Poppa Jared says. He looks over at Poppa Blake with a knowing eyebrow raise. He’s got big, bushy eyebrows, almost as bushy as his beard, so that one eyebrow raise speaks volumes. They’re worried. Again.
“Do you want to talk about it, bud?” Poppa Jared asks.
“No,” I say. Then I sigh and put down my fork. I know they won’t let this go, so I push the truth a little more. “It’s just that it feels like no matter what I do, it won’t be as good as what she does. Like, I could put on the very best display and it still wouldn’t be as cool as hers because mine doesn’t have all of her special effects. She has everything. What hope do I have?”
“A good haunted house is about more than special effects,” Poppa Blake says. “It’s about telling a story that gets under people’s skin. And you’re a master storyteller.”
“Money can’t buy talent,” Poppa Jared says. He reaches over and pats my shoulder. “And you’re the most talented kid I know.”
“You say that because I’m your son.”
PJ snorts. “These aren’t mutually exclusive facts,” he says. His smile switches to something more serious. “I understand your frustration, bud. Really, I do. But I promise you, anything you do will be loads better than something pulled from a box. Everything you create is amazing and terrifying, and this year we know to be on the lookout so Patricia doesn’t sabotage you again. I’ve already talked to her parents.”
I groan. “Daaaad.”
“What? I wanted to get to know the competition. They know that if anything funny happens this time, we’re bringing it up to the judges, and Patricia will be automatically disqualified.”
That immediately stops my frustration.
“Really?”
“Really,” Poppa Jared says. “No matter what, this year is going to come down to skill a
nd skill alone. So don’t worry yourself over Patricia. She relies too much on what her parents can buy her. But you … you rely on talent, and that will win every time.”
I smile at my dads. I wasn’t expecting to feel better tonight, not after Patricia’s snide comments. But knowing that my family has my back makes me feel like I can take on the world.
We go back to eating our pasta, my dads finally turning their attention to asking each other about their days. I tune them out, my thoughts naturally falling back to the haunted house. We have one more night to get everything perfect. One more night to figure out how to steal and install the ghost bride without anyone catching on. The last thing I need is for Julie to freak out—she’d never let me hear the end of it. I can practically hear her now …
Wait.
I don’t actually hear anything. Not my dads talking or even eating.
I glance up.
At first, I don’t really understand what I’m seeing. My dads are both still there, poised with their forks raised halfway to their mouths. Neither of them is moving, though.
And that’s when I realize
they are both mannequins.
I gasp and jolt back in my chair, and then my eyes snap open and I’m crouched over my plate of pasta and wait—was I sleeping for that? Like, did I fall asleep while eating?
My dads look at me.
“You feeling okay, bud?” PJ asks.
I nod, but it feels like the biggest lie yet. What was that? I swear they became mannequins.
I’m reminded way too much of the photographs I saw from the paper last night, of the mannequin bride poised at the dinner table. Maybe that’s why I dreamed it. Because that’s what that was, right? I fell asleep without realizing it and had a brief, terrifying dream.
“You look like you could use some sleep,” PB says.
“Yeah,” I say. “I think you’re right.”
I also think that—if last night was any indicator—sleep won’t happen for a long while.
I dream I’m back in the manor.
I’m heading down into the basement, the heavy door slammed shut behind me. My feet thud loudly on the wooden steps, echoing like rolling thunder. I don’t want to go down there. But my feet lead me, even if my heart clambers to get out of my chest, clawing its way up my throat in fear.
The stairs roll down forever, shadows whispering past me like phantoms with every step. The hairs on my arms prickle upright. Everything in me screams to run away, run away. Everything except for my traitorous feet.
They keep
walking.
Closer.
Closer.
And then, I’m there.
Suddenly, there are no steps. Just a yawning expanse of concrete that I know must be the basement floor. I keep walking. My bare feet scrape against the cement. Until it isn’t cement anymore, but grass. Grass stretching out to all sides, grass rolling up and down in mounds. Grass pockmarked with stones.
Tombstones.
I trip over a small rock. Look down.
Not just tombstones: bones.
I want to scream, but I can’t open my mouth. Just as I can’t stop myself from walking forward, through the rolling cemetery. Fog slinks around my feet, cold and damp like the tongues of spectral dogs. I shudder. At least I can do that, even if I can’t run away. My body at least knows that this isn’t right.
I expect to hear the moans of ghosts.
The rattles of skeletons.
The crunch of dirt as zombies rise from their graves.
But the graveyard is silent. Deathly, ghostly silent. Except for my breath and the crush of my feet on the grass. That almost makes it worse. Every single fiber of my body is strung taut with anticipation that something is about to go terribly, horribly wrong.
Through the mist, rising up like a skeleton, is a bone-white tree. Beneath it, a small gazebo. Just seeing it multiplies my fear.
I can’t go there.
I can’t …
I do.
Up the creaky steps of the wooden pavilion, where fog curls so thick I can’t see a thing. I stand there, by the steps, and finally my feet stop. Nail me into place.
The fog clears, and when it does, I realize I’m not alone.
A woman stands on the porch before me, facing away. Crying.
Her sobs echo over the graveyard. How did I not hear her before?
“Why?” she moans. “Why!?”
She turns to me, her hands still pressed to her face.
“Why did you do this to me?” she demands.
She lowers her hands, and in the place of her head is only darkness and broken ceramic pieces.
“Why did you bring me back?”
She howls, her scream piercing my chest. My legs unlock. I try to run.
But before I can take my first step, she latches on to my arm and drags me down to darkness.
The next day, I’m able to entirely ignore Patricia. She tries talking to me in the halls and, when that doesn’t work, loudly drops hints to our classmates about what amazing things she has planned. But I don’t even think about it. Partly because of the pep talk from my dads, and partly because there’s no doubt in my mind that the mannequin bride is our key to victory. If it’s enough to give me not one, but two nightmares—including some really creepy waking dreams—then it is more than enough to tell a terrifying tale to win over the judges. No matter what zany special effects Patricia has on her own floor.
And that means I have to figure out how to steal the mannequin from the broom closet without Mr. Evans noticing. My brain spins all day with plans, and by the time the final bell rings, I think I have it worked out. I just have to figure out a way to get Tanesha and Julie to help out without them realizing. They have to think this is a different mannequin.
Tanesha’s mom drives us all to the manor so we can get a faster start. We arrive before anyone else does, and Mr. Evans opens the door for the three of us with his usual caring smile.
My stomach turns over with the thought of my plan, but if it all works out, he’ll never even know the mannequin was missing in the first place. When he sees it in the display, I’ll convince him it’s not the original.
My plan should work.
No, it will work.
“Welcome, children,” Mr. Evans says. “Are you all ready for tomorrow?”
“Almost,” Julie replies.
“Just a few more tweaks and we’re done,” Tanesha says.
“Yeah,” I pipe in, grateful for the way the conversation is going. “Maybe you could come down later and check it out. Be our trial run?”
Mr. Evans smiles.
“Oh, I don’t know. You kids come up with some pretty spooky things, and my old heart can’t take any more scares.”
I pat him on the arm as he walks us to the basement door. “I promise you’ll have fun,” I say.
“Well, I suppose …” His smile widens. “I do always look forward to seeing what you kids get up to!”
“This year is going to be scarier than ever,” I say proudly. “Just wait and see.”
As my dads said, the most important part of a haunted house is telling a terrifying story, and mine is going to do just that.
You start at the pathway at the foot of the steps, the trail outlined with dim purple LEDs. First, you pass by the tombstones with their reaching hands and the animatronic skeletons (hopefully they don’t malfunction like the first night), ducking under papier-mâché trees and hanging cobwebs while prerecorded sounds of snickering bats and crackling limbs play in the rafters. We even have a fan set up for a chilling breeze. The path leads you deeper into the basement, around twists and turns that are hidden behind black trash bags, which are further disguised with more cobwebs and tree branches, so you never really know where you’re about to go. Especially with Tanesha’s expert lighting design and flickering, lightning-like strobes.
During the premiere, Julie and Tanesha will be dressed up as zombies and will patrol the paths, scaring unsuspecting v
isitors the farther in they get. Past the skeletons and the zombies, you reach the bubbling swamp. I managed to hide my old smoke machine in a fake rock so the swamp will be covered in a heavy fog, and small remote-control boats covered in lights will dart through the murk, looking like will-o’-the-wisps or ghastly ghouls. All the while I—the gravedigger—will be spinning the horrifying tale of the ghostly bride, who is stuck forever in the afterlife wandering this graveyard, looking for her missing fiancé.
At the very end, just when you think you’re reaching the stairs and safe, you hit the gazebo.
It’s just big enough for someone to stand under, with cobwebs hanging from the front and a thick black tapestry on the back as a door. More cobwebs and creepy lights cover it. Inside the archway, it’s entirely dark.
The only way out is past.
And there, hidden in the shadows and attached to a motion-sensor arm, will be the mannequin in her wedding gown. You won’t see her until she leaps out with a flash of strobe light and a recorded cackle. If she doesn’t terrify the judges, nothing will.
At least, that’s the idea. Right now we’re still missing a few lights, and some of the tombstones aren’t propped up properly, and there are more cobwebs to hang, and we need to mix food coloring and cornstarch in the swamp water so it looks murky.
And I need to get the mannequin from upstairs.
Nothing that a few more hours of work won’t fix.
I try to remain optimistic. There’s still a ton of work to do, and the haunted house isn’t nearly as creepy with all the lights on. But it will be. Soon. It has to be.
The gazebo waits beside me, empty, waiting for the final puzzle piece.
I blink.
Light flickers.
The archway isn’t empty.
The bride hovers there, her white dress billowing around her, her head in her delicate porcelain hands. Weeping. All I can hear is her weeping. Weeping as the air around me goes cold as ice, and I feel like I’m freezing. Drowning.
“Why couldn’t you let me rest?” she asks. “Why? WHY?”
Scare Me Page 4
