The Haunting Hour (9 page)

“Why are you doing this?” Shawn cried. He staggered back. One foot landed on the crackling surface.

“I'm taking over,” Travis said. “I'm tired of being the imaginary one. From now on
I'm
going to be the real one, Shawn. And
you
will be my invisible friend!”

“Noooo!” Shawn wailed. “You can't do that! I'm real! You're just imaginary!”

“Not anymore,” Travis sneered. “I'm taking over now. It's time for you to go. Good-bye, Shawn.”

He grabbed Shawn by the shoulders. Grunting, crying out, the
two of them wrestled onto the surface of the ice.

David opened his mouth in a shrill scream as the ice cracked. Like a broken mirror it split into dozens of jagged shards.

Still wrestling, Shawn and Travis plunged into the dark water.

“No—no—no!” David chanted, shivering in terror. “No—no—please!”

And then he forced himself to move. He dove onto the ice. Threw himself into the open hole, into the frozen water.

His heart thudding in his chest, he searched under the surface for Shawn.

David's body started to turn numb in the icy water. He couldn't feel his arms…his legs…he couldn't breathe….

He forced himself to keep searching. But the darkness surrounded him. He couldn't see a thing in the inky blackness.

He thrashed out, searching for Shawn with his hands. Reaching out frantically. Groping for Shawn in the icy darkness.

He stayed down until his chest felt ready to explode. Then he burst back to the surface, choking, gasping for air.

“Where are you? Shawn? Where did you go? Help—somebody! Oh, help!”

 

“David is very lucky that a neighbor heard his shouts,” Dr. Kline said. “He was very lucky to be pulled out. Another few seconds and he would have drowned.”

David's dad shook his head sadly. He turned to David in the hospital bed. “How did this happen?” he asked. “How did you fall into the pond?”

“I—I tried to save them,” David replied. “Shawn and Travis. Are they okay, Dad? I tried to save them, but I couldn't see them. It was too dark…too dark.”

“Try to rest, David,” Dr. Kline said. He walked David's dad out into the hall. “Who are Shawn and Travis?” the doctor asked.

David's dad tugged at his mustache. He let out a long, weary sigh. “Shawn and Travis are David's imaginary friends,” he explained.

Dr. Kline's eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Yes. Ever since David's mom and I divorced, ever since she moved away, David imagines that she's still there. He still talks to her. And he spends all his time talking to these two imaginary boys.”

David's dad took a deep breath. “I've tried to get help, Dr. Kline. I just don't know what to do.”

The two men stood staring at each other. From back in the room they could hear David's voice….

“Shawn. Travis. Look at all the trouble you got me in. You went too far this time. You landed me in the hospital!”

“
Bor-ring!
” David heard Travis reply. “Let's bust out of this place. Come on, David. No one is looking.
Run!
”

INTRODUCTION

ILLUSTRATED BY
P
ATRICK
A
RRASMITH

W
here do story ideas come from? This one came from a memory that has always haunted me.

I grew up in Columbus, Ohio. Every summer my friends and I looked forward to the Ohio State Fair. We loved everything about it—the great junk food, the giant pumpkins and squashes and melons, the demolition derbies, the carnival rides, the award-winning horses, cows, and fat, sloppy hogs.

One night we stayed very late. Somehow I got separated from everyone. The fair was closing. The lights were dimming. I ran along a back fence, searching for my friends.

Suddenly a huge man in a baggy black suit stepped into my path. His face was big and round and wrinkled, like a prize cabbage. “Hurry,” he called to me. “This way! Hurry! You're just in time!”

I stopped and stared at him. The fairgrounds were nearly empty.
What did he want?

“Hurry—you're just in time,” he whispered. “This way!”

A chill ran down my back. I turned and ran. I heard the man laughing behind me—cold, cruel laughter.

Some nights I still hear that laughter. I thought of that cabbage-faced man in the dark fairgrounds when I wrote this story.

M
y friend Pete
and I go to the Washoo County Fair every fall just to laugh. Believe me, it's a hoot. You should see the weird things they have at this fair. And the people are even weirder!

Pete's cousin Franny always comes with us too. But Franny
likes
the fair! She says Pete and I are stuck-up snobs. “You shouldn't judge people,” Franny says. That just makes us laugh even more.

We're twelve now. But the three of us have been going to the fair since we were in kindergarten. Believe me, it just doesn't get any stranger than this.

“Colin, check this out!” Pete poked me in the ribs. We had just entered the dairy barn. We like to make faces at the cows. “Over here,” Pete said, pointing.

I stared at the shiny yellow statue in front of us. “Oh, wow. George Washington carved out of butter.”

“Are you sure that's George Washington?” Pete asked. “It kinda looks like your mom!”

“No!” I cried. “It looks a
lot
like my mom!”

The two of us fell on the floor laughing.

“I don't think it's funny,” Franny said. “Someone worked really hard on this.”

“Why work so hard on something that's just going to melt?” I said. “How dumb is that?”

We made our way down the long row of pens, mooing at the cows and making faces at them. The cows didn't seem to mind. But some of their owners gave us dirty looks.

“You two are embarrassing me,” Franny said. She led the way back outside.

It was a cool, breezy evening. A bright half-moon hung low in the starry sky.

“Check out that goof over there,” Pete said. “He's eating four corn dogs at once! Two in each hand!”

“How about that geek?” I said, pointing. “He's wearing black socks with sandals. Nice look, dude!”

“Stop it!” Franny scolded. “You can't judge people by their looks or how they dress.”

“Of course you can!” Pete said.

We wandered into the next building and saw rows of tables holding giant cabbages. Some of these cabbages were as big as cars!

Across from us a light flashed. A woman was snapping photo after photo of a fat green-and-yellow cabbage.

“Wish I'd brought
my
camera!” I exclaimed.

“The woman looks just like her cabbage,” Pete said. “All green and wrinkled!”

“Why don't you kids move on?” a big red-faced man said. He had both hands on his cabbage, like he was petting it.

Suddenly it grew very quiet in the building. The people behind the tables stood up, as if at attention.

I turned and saw two men and a woman approaching. They wore blue blazers and had bright-red badges pinned to their fronts that read: COUNTY JUDGE.

“Cool! We're in time for the judging,” Franny said.

“Bor-ring,” Pete groaned. “Let's get out of here.”

“No. Wait,” I said. I bent down and picked up a fat purple worm I'd seen crawling on the dirt floor. When the farmer turned away, I slipped the worm onto a front leaf of his cabbage.

“Okay. We can go now,” I said. As soon as we were outside, I burst into a giggling fit. “I don't think that guy is going to win any ribbons today.”

“Look! Hogs!” Pete cried, pointing to the next barn. “Hogs are
great. Let's go check 'em out.”

We pushed our way through a group of little kids with ice slurpies pressed to their faces. Then we stepped into the hog barn. What a racket. The hogs were squealing and honking.

Pete and I got down on our hands and knees and squealed and honked right back at them.

“Why don't you guys grow up?” Franny said.

No way. It was a riot! One stupid hog tried to charge us. Grunting and squawking, he rammed his head right into the wall of his pen. That got the next hog worked up too. He came charging forward.

“Stampede!” I shouted. “Run for your lives! Hog stampede!”

We were laughing so hard, Pete and I nearly fell into the pen.

I saw some hog owners running across the barn after us. They looked pretty upset. So we took off. Outside, we tossed our heads back and roared out shrill honks and squeals.

“Not funny,” Franny moaned, rolling her eyes. “Remind me not to come with you two next year.”

“Remind yourself to get a sense of humor!” Pete told her.

She tried to slug him, but he danced away.

We made our way into a long tent at the edge of the fairgrounds and saw row after row of gigantic orange and yellow squashes.

“Man, these are ugly!” I said, walking down the long aisle. “They're all lumpy and gross.”

I squeezed the end of a big orange-and-green-striped squash. “Yuck. This one is kind of soft.” I turned to Pete with a grin. “Do you still have that marking pen?”

He pulled the black marking pen from his jeans pocket.

I took it from him. I made sure no one was watching. Then I wrote
LOSER
in big black letters on the side of the squash.

“That's
awful!
” Franny cried. “I can't take this anymore. You
both are horrible!” She hurried away, shaking her head angrily.

I picked up a big squash. “Hey, come back! This one looks just like you!” I called.

Pete and I had a major giggling fit. “She'll get over it,” Pete said.

To my surprise, a chubby man in a floppy straw hat stepped in front of us. He wore an ugly red-plaid shirt that hung over baggy, wrinkled white shorts. “This way,” he said. “Hurry.”

“Huh? What do you want?” I asked.

“I've been watching you. Come this way,” he said.

Pete and I tried to step around him. But he blocked us with his big stomach.

He pulled off the straw hat, revealing a nest of bright-red hair. His round face was covered with freckles.

He motioned with the hat. “Hurry. Here's the Youth Building.”

He led us to the back of a long, low white building. Then he used the hat to herd us through a narrow door.

Pete and I stepped into a small, dimly lit room. “Hey—where are we?” I cried. “What's up with this?”

“I think you boys are winners,” the man drawled, scratching his head. A big grin crossed his pudgy face. “Yep. I got me two winners.” He pushed the straw hat back on his head and let out a whoop.

My throat suddenly felt dry. I had a bad feeling about this. “Pete and I have to go now,” I said. I started to the door.

Again the man blocked our path. “Just sit tight,” he said. “Everything will be fine. You'll see. My name is MacColley, by the way. You can call me Mac. I'll be right back.”

He bounced out the door and slammed it shut behind him.

I darted to the door and tried the handle. It didn't budge. “We—we're locked in,” I told Pete.

“This is crazy,” Pete muttered. “What does that guy want?”

I gazed around. The room was small and narrow. A bare concrete floor. No furniture at all. I saw shelves at the far end. They seemed to be filled with large glass jars.

“Hey—do you hear that?” Pete whispered.

Yes. I heard cheers and laughter. They seemed to be coming from another part of the building.

I listened hard. I heard music. Then loud applause.

“It sounds like some kind of show,” Pete said.

I shrugged and crossed the room to the shelves. “Check out these big jars,” I said. “Looks like some kind of pickled stuff.”

And then I let out a horrified gasp.

“It…it can't be,” I said.

But yes. Floating in the jar in front of me was a hand. A smooth white hand. Pale and small.

A human hand.

“Pete—”

“I—I see it,” Pete stammered.

My eyes moved over the shelves of jars. Each one contained a human hand, floating in some kind of thick jelly.

“Oh, wow.” My legs suddenly felt weak and shaky. “Do you think they're real?”

“They…look real,” Pete said.

Light poured into the room as the door opened. The man in the straw hat stepped in. He held two paper cones filled with blue candy in his hands. It looked like blue cotton candy.

“Brought you boys a snack.” He shoved the cones into our hands.

“Are those real?” I asked, pointing to the jars.

He shook his head. “Don't sweat those, boys. They're just for display.”

“We have to go,” I said. “Really. We're late, and—”

Beneath the brim of his straw hat, MacColley narrowed his eyes at us. “Don't be in such a hurry, boys. Have your snack first.”

I looked at the blue, sticky stuff. “If we eat the cotton candy, can we go?”

“Why, sure,” MacColley drawled. “Go ahead. Enjoy.”

I heard more laughter and applause through the wall. MacColley stared at us, his arms crossed over his big stomach, waiting for us to eat the cotton candy.

We raised the cones to our faces and bit off blue chunks.

“Sweet, huh?” the man asked.

I nodded and bit off another chunk. It was very sweet. Tasted great. But it wasn't cotton candy. It didn't melt away in your mouth the way cotton candy does. It was very chewy. And it seemed to fluff up as you chewed it.

“Eat the whole thing, boys,” MacColley urged.

The candy swelled up in my mouth until it was a huge ball. I struggled to choke it down. It was kind of like trying to eat an inflated balloon. The more I chewed, the bigger it got.

Pete gagged and tried to spit out a hunk. But it stuck to his teeth and the roof of his mouth. It was too big to spit out!

Finally I choked the last of mine down. I felt stuffed! “Can we go now?” I asked.

Grinning, MacColley nodded. “Sure thing. It's just about time.”

“Time for what?” Pete asked.

MacColley opened a door on the far wall and motioned us through it. We walked down a long, dark tunnel. As we walked, the cheers and laughter grew louder.

Where is he taking us? I wondered. This isn't the way outside.

I wanted to run, but suddenly my legs felt like lead weights.

At the end of the tunnel MacColley pushed open a door. We
stared into bright light. “Here you go, boys,” he said. He pushed us into the light.

“Whoa!” I cried out when I saw the bleachers full of people. It was a big arena.

A loud cheer went up as MacColley pushed Pete and me to the platform. I heard laughter and some boos.

“What's going on?” I demanded.

“Up you go,” MacColley ordered. “You're just in time for the judging. Good luck. Make me proud.”

“Excuse me? Judging?” A wave of dread swept over me.

“Colin, let's get out of here,” Pete whispered.

Too late. We were already standing on the stage next to two other kids. One was the tallest, skinniest boy I had ever seen. He looked our age, but he was at least ten feet tall.