I look down at the doll still standing on the other side of the door. Only days ago, she felt like a curse. Could it be that she was actually the key to breaking one?
“What can I do?” I ask. “I’ve never known my dad. If you need me to get your jewels back, I can’t help you.”
For the first time since I’ve known her, Elizabeth smiles. Even then, it is still sad.
“I have no need for gold or jewels. No, I want this town to finally face what they did and for my story to finally be told. And you, who are such a good storyteller, are the one to do it.”
Later that evening, I have Mayor Couch call a town meeting.
I don’t expect him to believe me or follow through, but when I show him the piece of gold that Elizabeth gave me and tell him it has to do with the mine, he agrees. Maybe it’s linked to the curse. Or maybe he’s just greedy for more gold. I hope it’s the former.
So there we stand, Mayor Couch and me, in the town hall in front of the entire town. Even my mom is there, sitting in the front row right beside Alicia and James. They all look up at me with very confused expressions on their faces.
Mayor Couch clears his throat. The buzz of chatter dies down.
“Our very own Kimberly Rice wanted to speak with you all tonight,” Mayor Couch says. “I’m not certain what it’s about, but I have good reason to believe it’s very important. To all of us. Kimberly?”
I feel like all the spotlights in the world have been turned on and pointed straight at me. All the blood rushes to my cheeks, and my hands instantly grow sweaty.
I step forward and try to hold my head high.
I’ve been telling stories my entire life.
When I hold the gold out and hear a murmur ripple through the crowd, followed by a hushed silence, I know this is the most important story I will ever tell.
“Elizabeth?” I call out.
I creep down the steps of the abandoned mansion. Night has fallen, and the lantern in my hand casts sharp lines and shadows over the debris. Gold glitters amidst the destruction. All the gold in the treasury is still there, just melted. All of this is—technically—my family’s. Mine.
“Did you tell them?” I hear in response.
She swirls to life in front of me, pulled from a blue fog like a flame.
I nod.
“I told them everything. About the mansion, and the fire, and the curse.”
“Did you mention the gold?”
I nod again.
“I told them that we didn’t need to suffer in poverty anymore. That the town was now rich. And I will make sure that everyone gets their fair share.”
Elizabeth looks confused.
“But the gold is yours,” she says. “It belongs to the Rice family. You could have kept it for yourself—the curse would be lifted even if you only told my story.”
“I know,” I reply. “But I didn’t want to be greedy. Not after what greed has done to our family and this town. Fair is fair. I want all of us to have a better start.”
Her confusion turns into a smile of relief.
“I knew you were the right one,” she says. “I knew you would help end this nightmare.”
“Is that it, then? Is the curse broken?”
There was a heavy silence after I’d shared Elizabeth’s story with the crowd. I remember looking at my mother and seeing tears in her eyes—it was only when she hugged me after the meeting that she said she finally remembered my father and what had happened. She had stayed behind that night because of the pregnancy. She remembered, and she believed, and it seemed like everyone else had a similar experience. Mayor Couch was red-cheeked, and he apologized to me personally, as he had been one of the townspeople who lit the manor ablaze. Even Mr. Jones the librarian came up to me after to say sorry for not protecting the town’s history like he had meant to.
Only James and Alicia remained stoic.
“We always knew something was strange,” Alicia said. “Just as we knew you’d be the one to solve it.”
I didn’t know if she was telling the truth entirely, but I didn’t really care. It was good to know my friends believed and supported me.
“The curse isn’t over yet,” Elizabeth says, drawing me back to the present. “Not entirely. There is still one more thing you must do.”
She bends over and picks up the doll from the ground. It’s then that I see the bones poking up from the ash.
“What do you need me to do?” I ask.
“Exactly what I asked you to do from the very beginning.”
She holds the doll out to me, and I read the words on its dress.
I nod.
Finally, I know precisely what she needs me to do, and what she had been trying to tell me all along.
I’m leaving Copper Hollow.
I want to.
Even though I have my imagination, I know there is a bigger world out there. One that isn’t made up of cursed treasures and haunted dolls. And I am going to find it.
I look over at my mother, who smiles at me from the driver’s seat of our new car. Our scant luggage is in the back seat, beside a duffel bag filled with gold—gold that I found tucked safe in my bed. A tiny note rested atop it, in the same handwriting as on the doll’s dress.
Both Alicia and James are moving to the same new city as we are. We will be neighbors. We’ll live in nice houses and play with new kids, and learn new games, and tell new stories. I don’t know if we’ll look for my father. I don’t know if I want to.
All I know is, we are finally free of this cursed town. We have a future. We are safe. Everyone can move forward.
I smile and settle into my seat. Finally, we are leaving all of this behind. Stepping into something new.
As I watch the town copper mine disappear behind me, I feel a sense of contentment bubble up in my chest. With the curse lifted and Elizabeth and her doll laid to rest, we can all finally move on with our lives and be better people.
My eyes flutter closed. It’s over. Finally over.
But when I glance at the side-view mirror, I see something shifting through the trees. Many things.
Dolls. Dozens of them. Wearing ball gowns or tuxedos, just the same as all the dancers I saw in the ballroom that fatal night.
And on each of their outfits are two words:
K. R. Alexander is the pseudonym for author Alex R. Kahler.
As K. R., he writes creepy middle grade books for brave young readers. As Alex—his actual first name—he writes fantasy novels for adults and teens. In both cases, he loves writing fiction drawn from true life experiences. (But this book can’t be real … can it?)
Alex has traveled the world collecting strange and fascinating tales, from the misty moors of Scotland to the humid jungles of Hawaii. He is always on the move, as he believes there is much more to life than what meets the eye.
You can learn more about his travels and other books, including The Collector, The Fear Zone, and the other books in the Scare Me series, on his website: cursedlibrary.com
He looks forward to scaring you again … soon.
Keep reading for another terrifying tale from K. R. Alexander, Scare Me!
Nothing scares me.
That’s why I’m the best at what I do—making haunted houses. My friends and I, we’re called the Bloody Banshees, and every year we make it a point to outdo ourselves and scare the entire town of Happy Hills in our yearly haunted house competition.
We’ve created some of the scariest rooms this town has ever seen. Labyrinths filled with terrifying beasts. Chambers filled with horrific old dolls and cracked mirrors that reflect back ghosts. A circus tent complete with contorted clowns and roaring zombie lions.
But this year, I know we have to do more. Ever since our rivals, the Monster Mashers, cheated and stole our title last year, I’ve been dreaming up something even more terrifying than all our old scares combined. This year, my team and I will create something so horrifying, even the bravest adult will fear going inside. We’ll create so
mething that might even scare me. It will have to be completely, utterly horrifying. And I think I have the perfect plan.
Nothing will get in our way.
Nothing human, at least …
“Ewww, I have fake blood on my shirt!”
I glance over to Julie, who—sure enough—has bright red corn syrup dripping down from the pocket of her T-shirt.
Tanesha breaks into laughter.
“That was me,” she says. “I put a blood capsule in your pocket. Don’t worry—it will wash out.”
Julie glowers over at her, but Julie’s anger never lasts very long. Almost immediately, she starts laughing.
“Good one, Tanesha, but just remember—”
“I don’t get mad, I get even,” both Tanesha and I say. And then we all start giggling. It’s Julie’s favorite phrase. But I’m pretty certain that she’s never actually tried to get even.
Which is good, because Tanesha is a master prankster. If Julie tried to pull one over on her, I don’t think it would end well.
Still giggling, we continue carrying our crates of scary props to the big old mansion in front of us. Three stories tall, with fading blue paint, huge windows, and a yard the size of a football field, Corvidon Manor is our town’s largest and oldest home. Most of the year, it’s a history museum, where people can look at old photographs of our town or talk to Mr. Evans, the proprietor, who gives free tours. I’ve been inside a few times for school field trips. From November to September, it’s pretty boring.
Then October arrives.
For the month of October, Corvidon Manor is our playground. Every Halloween, Happy Hills holds a fund-raiser for our animal shelter. Four teams of kids each design a creepy experience for the mansion, one per floor, including the basement. The one with the scariest floor gets a year’s supply of pizza and ice cream from Jolly Jerry’s Pizzeria.
For the other teams, it’s just a fun way to raise money. For me, it’s a life calling. Someday, I want to build real haunted houses or work in movies. I take this seriously.
Which is why, when I see Patricia’s mom’s sports car rounding the corner, a sick acid roils in my gut. She and her team beat us last year. And they didn’t win fair.
“Come on, Kevin,” Tanesha says, noticing my stare. “We’re going to win this year. Don’t let her psych you out.”
I nod glumly.
“Bloody Banshees forever,” Julie says hopefully. Our little slogan.
“Bloody Banshees forever,” Tanesha and I repeat.
I stare up at the house as we reach the wraparound patio. In the summer, this place is green and filled with birds and a gurgling fountain. But it’s like the moment October hits, the house itself knows it’s game time. The trees in the yard have already turned a deep red orange. The fountain no longer gurgles and instead sits heavy with fallen leaves and wary toads. And maybe it’s my imagination, but the closer we get to the house, the colder it seems to become.
As if the house knows it’s time to get scary.
As if it, too, is excited.
Our feet creak on the wooden front steps.
Behind us, a murder of crows startles from a tree, flying off in a flutter of angry caws and black wings and orange leaves.
Julie shivers.
“Do you think that’s a good sign?” she asks quietly.
I smile.
“Definitely. I think it’s a sign that this year is going to be the scariest yet.”
Copyright © 2019 by Alex R. Kahler writing as K. R. Alexander
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are eitherthe product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing 2019
Cover design by Baily Crawford
Cover art by Shane Rebenschied created from the following images: Cover photos © Shutterstock: clouds (vesilvio), trees (Sascha Burkard), gravestone (Jason Salmon), hand (Shelly Still Photo), sleeve (Pavel Gulea), dirt (Anton-Burakov).
e-ISBN 978-1-338-33880-5
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
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