The Complete Horowitz Horror

by Anthony Horowitz

  “Let’s run!” he gasped.

  “He’d catch us.”

  “We could catch a bus.”

  “He knows where to find us. School—”

  “I knew we shouldn’t have come here.” The sadder Leo becomes, the funnier he looks. Right now I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “What happens if the horse doesn’t win?”

  “It’ll win,” I muttered. “It has to.”

  The plastic strips parted and Garrett appeared holding a blue betting ticket. “I just got it in time,” he announced. “The race is about to start.”

  “And they’re off . . . !” The sound from the television echoed out onto the street as the three of us stood there, Leo and me not knowing quite where to look. I wanted to get closer to the door, but at the same time I didn’t want to seem too eager, so I stayed where I was. I could hardly hear any of the commentary and the bits I did hear didn’t sound too good. It seemed that a horse called Jenny Wren had taken an early lead. Borsalino was coming up behind. I didn’t even hear Miller’s Boy mentioned.

  But then at the very end, when the commentator’s voice was at its most frantic, the magic words finally reached me.

  “And it’s Miller’s Boy coming up on the inside. Miller’s Boy! He’s overtaken Borsalino and now he’s moving in on Jenny Wren. Miller’s Boy . . . can he do it?”

  A few seconds later it was all over. Miller ’s Boy had come in first by a head. Bill Garrett looked at me long and hard. “Wait here,” he commanded. He went back into the shop.

  Leo grimaced. “Now we’re in real trouble,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” I retorted. “The horse won.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. You wait and see . . .”

  Garrett came out of the betting shop. There was a smile on his lips, but it wasn’t a pleasant one. It’s how you’d imagine a snake would smile at a rabbit. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Henry Marsh.”

  He held out a hand. There were three dollar bills in the palm. “Here you are, Henry,” he said. “Three for you and six for me. That seems fair, doesn’t it?”

  It didn’t seem fair at all, but I wasn’t going to argue.

  “This friend of yours . . .” Garrett had lit another cigarette. He blew cold blue smoke into the air. “You think I could meet him?”

  “He’s very shy,” I said.

  “In the racing business, is he?”

  “He used to be.” That was true, anyway.

  Garrett placed a hand on my shoulder. His fingers dug into my collarbone, making me wince. “It seems you and me, we need each other,” he said. His voice was friendly, but his fingers were digging deep. “You get the tips, but you’re too young to place the bets . . .”

  “I don’t think there will be any more tips,” I whimpered.

  “Well, if there are, you make sure you keep in touch.”

  “I will, Garrett.”

  His hand left my shoulder and clouted me across the chin hard enough to make my eyes water. “I’m Mr. Garrett now,” he explained. “I’m not at school anymore.”

  He turned and walked into the liquor store. I guessed he was going to spend the six dollars he had just won.

  “Let’s go,” Leo muttered.

  I didn’t need prompting. Together we ran to the bus stop just in time to catch a bus home. I don’t think I’d ever been so glad to feel myself on the move.

  That night the computer woke me up again. This time the screen carried three words.

  TEA FOR TWO

  I buried my head in the pillow, trying to blot it out, but the words still burned in my mind. I’m not sure how I felt just then. Part of me was depressed. Part of me was frightened. But I was excited, too. What was happening was new and strange and fantastic. And it could still make me rich. I could be a millionaire a thousand times over. Just thinking of that was enough to keep me awake all night. It would be like winning the pools every day for the rest of my life.

  I didn’t tell Leo about the horse. He hardly spoke to me at school the next day and I got the feeling that he didn’t want to know. I had thought about telling my mom and dad, but had decided against it—at least for the time being. It was my computer, but if I told them, they’d probably take it away and I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

  Bill Garrett was waiting for me when I came out of school. I was on my own—Leo had gotten a part in the school play and had stayed behind to rehearse. At first I ignored him, walking toward the bus stop like I always did. But I wasn’t surprised when he fell into step beside me. And the truth is, I wasn’t even sorry. Because, you see, Garrett had been right the day before. He’d told me I needed him. And I did.

  He was friendly enough. “I was wondering if you’d had any more tips,” he said.

  “I might have,” I replied, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice.

  “Might have?” I thought he’d turn around and punch me then. But he didn’t.

  “How much money have you got?” I asked him.

  He dug into his pockets and pulled out a soiled five-dollar bill, three singles, and a handful of change. “About eight bucks,” he said. At a glance I could see it was closer to ten, but as I told you, math wasn’t Garrett’s strong point.

  “I could turn that into . . .” I’d already checked the odds and now I made a mental calculation. “One hundred and eighty-five dollars,” I said.

  “What?”

  “How much will you give me?”

  “Out of a hundred and eighty-five?” He considered. “I’ll let you have thirty.”

  “I want a hundred.”

  “Wait a minute . . .” The ugly look was back on his face, although I’m not sure it had ever left it.

  “That still leaves you with eighty-five,” I said. “You put the stake down, I’ll tell you the name of the horse.”

  “What happens if it loses.”

  “Then I’ll save up and pay you back.”

  We were some way from the school by now, which was just as well. It wouldn’t have done me any good to be seen talking to Garrett. He sneered at me in his own special way. “How do you know I’ll pay you the money if it does win?” he asked.

  “If you don’t, I won’t give you any more tips.” I had it all worked out. At least, that’s what I thought. Which only goes to show how wrong you can be.

  Garrett nodded slowly. “All right,” he said. “It’s a deal. What’s the name of the horse?”

  “Tea for Two.” Even as I spoke the words I knew that there could be no going back now. I was in this up to my neck. “It’s running in the four-fifty at Carlisle,” I said. “The odds are fifteen to one. It’s the outsider. You can put on ten bucks of your own and another three from me.” I gave him the money I had won the day before.

  “Tea for Two?” Garrett repeated the words.

  “Come to school on Monday with the winnings and maybe I’ll have another tip for you.”

  Garrett gave me an affectionate clip on the ear. It was still stinging as he scuttled off down the sidewalk and leaped onto a bus.

  Tea for Two romped home easily. I heard the result on the radio later that evening and went to bed with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Seeing me so cheerful, my mom decided I must be in love and Claire spent a whole hour teasing me. Well, I’d show her when I was a multimillionaire! That night the computer stayed blank, but I wasn’t worried. Maybe Ethan still took the weekend off. He’d be back. For once I was actually looking forward to school and Monday morning. One hundred dollars. Put that on another horse at twenty-five to one and I’d be talking thousands.

  But I didn’t have to wait until Monday morning to see Garrett again. He came over the next day. He brought Leo with him. One look at the two of them and I knew I was in trouble.

  Leo had a black eye and a bloody nose. His clothes were torn and his whole face was a picture of misery. As for Garrett, he was swaggering and stalking around like a real king of the castle. I’d forgotten just how bad his
reputation was. Well, I was learning the truth now and at the worst possible time. Dad was at the newspaper. Mom was taking Claire to her dancing lesson. I was in the house alone.

  “Where is it?” Garrett demanded, pushing Leo through the open front door.

  “What?” I asked him. But I knew.

  Garrett was in the house now. I wondered if I could make a dash for the upstairs phone and call the police before he broke several of my bones. It seemed unlikely. He slammed the door.

  “I’m sorry . . .” Leo began.

  “It had to be something special,” Garrett explained. “I knew, you see. Nobody can predict winners. Not twice in a row. Not for certain. So there had to be some sort of trick.” He lit a cigarette. My mom would kill me when she smelled the smoke. If Garrett didn’t do it first. “I knew you’d never tell me,” he went on. “So I popped over and visited your friend. Took him out for a little chat. Well, he didn’t want to tell me neither, so I had to rough him up a little bit. Made him cry, didn’t I.”

  “There was nothing I could do,” Leo whispered.

  “This is my fault,” I said. Right then I would have given Garrett the computer just to get him out of the house.

  “So then sissy-boy starts telling me this story about a ghost and a computer,” Garrett went on, puffing smoke. “You know . . . I hit him some more when he told me that. I didn’t believe him. But he insisted and you know what? I began to think it must be true because when I threatened to pull his teeth out, he still insisted.” Garrett turned on me. “Is it true?”

  “Yes.” There seemed no point in lying.

  “Where is it?”

  “Upstairs. In my room. But if you go up there, I’ll call the police.”

  “The police?” He laughed. “You invited me in.”

  He took two steps toward the stairs and I hurried over, blocking his way. Now a streak of crimson crept into his face and his eyes took on the dead look of a police Identikit picture. “I know your parents are out,” he hissed. “I saw them go. You get out of my way or I’ll put you in the hospital. You wait and see what I’ll do.”

  “He means it,” Leo rasped.

  “It’s my computer!” I cried.

  Garrett threw a handful of crumpled bills at me. “No. You sold it to me for a hundred dollars. Remember?” He grinned. “It’s my computer now. You’re too young to gamble anyway. It’s against the law. You ought to be ashamed . . .”

  He pushed past me. There was nothing I could do. Leo looked on miserably and I felt a bitter taste in my mouth. This was all my fault. How could I have been so stupid?

  “Leo . . .” I began. But there was nothing I could say. I just hoped that we would still be friends when this was all over.

  “You’d better go up,” Leo said.

  I hurried upstairs. Garrett had already found my room and was sitting at my desk in front of the computer. He had turned it on and was waiting as the system booted itself. I stood in the doorway, watching.

  “All right,” Garrett muttered. He balled his fist and struck down at the keyboard. A tangle of letters appeared on the screen. “Come on, come on, Mr. Ghost!” He slapped the side of the monitor. “What have you got for me? Don’t keep me waiting!” He hit the keyboard again. More letters appeared.

  DBNOYEawES . . .

  “Come on! Come on!” Garrett clasped the monitor in two dirty hands and pressed his face against the glass. “You want to end up in the junkyard? Give me a name.”

  I was certain nothing would happen. I had never asked for a horse’s name to come up. It had just happened. And I had never been as greedy as this, although I realized with a sick feeling in my stomach that given time, I might well have become as hungry and horrible as Garrett was now. I was sure nothing would happen. But I was wrong.

  The tangle of letters faded away. Two words took their place.

  LIGHT MOVES

  Garrett stared at the screen as if it was only now that he really believed what Leo had told him. The cigarette fell out of his lips and he giggled. His whole body was shaking. “Light Moves.” He rolled the words on his tongue. “Light Moves. Light Moves.” He seemed to notice me for the first time. “Does this thing give you the odds?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. I was defeated. I just wanted him to go. “I get them in the paper.”

  “I’ll get them at the betting shop.” Garrett stood up. His hand curled around the cord and he yanked the plug out of the wall. The screen went blank. Then he scooped up the entire computer, holding it against his chest. “I’ll see you,” he said. “Enjoy the hundred bucks.”

  I followed him back down the stairs. Perhaps I could have stopped him, but the truth is that I didn’t want to. I just wanted him to go.

  Leo opened the front door.

  “Good-bye, suckers,” Garrett shouted.

  He ran out and over the road. There was a squeal of tires and a terrible crash. Leo and I stared at each other, then ran outside. And even now I can still see what I saw then. It’s like a photograph printed into my mind.

  Garrett had been hit by a large white van that had come to a halt a few yards from our front door. The driver was already out of the cab, looking down in horror. Garrett was lying in a pool of blood that was already widening around his head. His arms and legs were splayed out, so that he looked as if he were trying to swim across the tarmac of the road. But he wasn’t moving. Not even to breathe.

  The computer, which he had been carrying when he was hit, was smashed beyond repair. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men wouldn’t put Zincom together again. Glass from the monitor was all over the road. The casing around the hard drive had split open and there were valves and wires everywhere—electronic spaghetti.

  All of that was horrible, but do you know what was worse? It was the name on the side of the moving van. I saw it then and I see it just as clearly now.

  G. W. FAIRWEATHER MOVING CO.

  And beneath that, in large red letters:

  LIGHT MOVES

  The Night Bus

  Nick Hancock and his brother, Jeremy, knew they were in trouble but what they couldn’t agree on was whose fault it was. Jeremy blamed Nick, of course. Nick blamed Jonathan Saunders. And they both knew that when they finally got home—if they ever got home—their dad would blame them. But whoever was guilty, the fact was that they were stuck in the middle of London. It was five minutes to midnight. And they should have been home twenty-five minutes ago.

  It was a Saturday night—and not just any Saturday night. This was October 31. Halloween. The two of them had been invited to a party in central London, just off Holborn. Even getting permission to go had been hard work. Nick was seventeen and was allowed out on his own. His younger brother, Jeremy, was just twelve, although it was true that in another week he’d be a teenager himself. The party was being given by their cousin and that was what probably changed their parents’ minds. Anybody else’s party would be drugs, alcohol, and vomit . . . at least, that was how they saw it. But this was family. How could they say no?

  John Hancock, the boys’ father, had finally agreed. “All right,” he said. “The two of you can go. But I want you home by eleven-thirty . . . no arguments! Has Jonathan been invited?”

  Jonathan Saunders lived just down the road. The three of them all went to the same school.

  “Fine. I’ll take the three of you. His mom or dad can bring you back. I’ll give them a call. And, Nick—you look after your brother. I just hope I’m not going to regret this . . .”

  It had all gone horribly wrong. John Hancock had driven the three boys all the way into town. It was about a forty-minute journey from Richmond, where they all lived, out on the western edge of the city. John, who worked as a copywriter in one of the main advertising agencies, usually took the subway. But how could he take three boys across London on public transport when one of them was dressed up as a devil, one as a vampire, and the last (Jonathan) as Frankenstein, complete with a bolt going through his neck?

&nb
sp; He had dropped them off at the house near Holborn and it had been a great party. The trouble came at the end of it, at eleven o’clock. Jonathan had said it was time to go. Nick and Jeremy had wanted to stay. And what with the noise of the music and the darkness and the crowds of other kids, they had somehow gotten their wires crossed.

  Jonathan had left without them.

  His mother, who had come to pick the three of them up, had cheerfully driven off into the night, taking Jonathan but leaving the two other boys behind. Catherine Saunders was like that. She was a writer, a novelist who was always dreaming of her next plot. She was the sort of person who could drive to work only to find she’d forgotten the car. Scatty—that was her nickname. Maybe, at the end of the day, the blame was hers.

  And this was the end of the day. It was five to twelve and Nick, dressed as the devil, and Jeremy, as Count Dracula, were feeling very small and stupid as they walked together through Trafalgar Square in the heart of London.

  “We shouldn’t have left,” Jeremy said, miserably.

  “We had to. If Uncle Colin had seen us, he’d have called Dad and you know what that would have meant. Grounded for a month.”

  “Instead of which we’ll be grounded for a year . . .”

  “We’ll get home . . .”

  “We should have been there twenty minutes ago!”

  They should, of course, have taken a taxi—but there were no free taxis around. They had thought about the subway. But somehow they’d missed the Holborn and Covent Garden stations and found themselves in Trafalgar Square, in the shadow of Nelson’s Column, before they knew where they were. Surprisingly, there weren’t that many people around. Perhaps it was too late for the theatergoers, who would already be well on their way home, and too early for the clubbers, who wouldn’t even think about home until dawn. A few people glanced in the boys’ direction as they made their way around the stone lions that guarded the square, but quickly looked away. After all, what do you say to Dracula and the devil at five to twelve on a Saturday night?