Authors: David Lubar

The Psychozone (2 page)

BOOK: The Psychozone

10.35Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

ads

T
he good part about playing ball on a dead-end street is that there isn't a lot of traffic to worry about. The bad part is that Old Lady Flugle's house is just foul of right field. When our ball went over her fence, I figured it was lost and gone. To tell the truth, I'd never really seen the woman close up or spoken to her, so it probably wasn't fair of me to think bad thoughts about her. But everyone just knew she was spooky.

“Get it, Sally,” Danny said to me.

That wasn't fair, either. Just because I'd hit the ball didn't mean I should be the one to get it. “Hey,” I told him, “if you'd pitch a little faster, maybe I wouldn't have such an easy time knocking it so far.”

And that's where it should have ended. Nobody
expected anyone to actually go into Old Lady Flugle's yard. But Ronald, stupid, lazy, mean Ronald, had to open his big, fat mouth. “Scared, Sally?”

“I'm not scared,” I said.

“Then get the ball.” He stood there grinning like he'd just produced the world's greatest argument. “Go on, get it.” He gave my shoulder a little push. I should have slugged him, but he was a lot bigger than me, and a lot meaner. He shouldn't even have been playing with us, but he was the only one around who didn't mind being catcher.

There was only one response that could get me off the hook. “Are
you
scared?” I asked. I looked around, then said, “Hey, Ronald's scared.”

Most kids would have been ready for that, but Ronald wasn't very quick. He thought for a while, I guess, or tried to think. Finally, he said, “Am not.”

Bad move, Ronald. He probably expected me to come back at him with something weak like Are, too, but I rushed in with the finishing touch. “Then
you
go get the ball.”

“But â¦”

I knew I had him. It was perfect. There was absolutely no way for Ronald to escape my trapâuntil Danny spoke up and ruined it. I guess he was annoyed that I'd made fun of his pitching. “Why don't you both go get it?” he asked.

This was spinning out of control. I didn't want to go anywhere with Ronald. But it looked like I had no choice. The best I could do was to force the
others to come along with us. I turned to Danny and said, “Why don't we
all
go get it?”

I figured this might make everyone decide to forget about the ball. Unfortunately, the gang seemed to be feeling adventurous today. Next thing I know, we're all creeping through the front gate of Old Lady Flugle's house, hoping to spot the ball right away and get out of there. Somehow, I was stuck in front, followed by Danny, April, Beth, and Mark, with Ronald trailing along at the rear, probably looking for a chance to slip away. I felt like one of those soldiers you see in the old movies, sneaking into the enemy camp.

“Children!”

Imagine six kids jumping straight up in the air. I know my feet left the ground. I also know my heart took longer than the rest of me to get back down to earth.

Old Lady Flugle was standing by the side of her house, holding a ladleâlike the kind you dip in a punch bowl. She didn't look strange. Actually, she reminded me of the nice old lady who owns Tweety Bird in the cartoons. But one thing about her was definitely peculiarâshe didn't seem surprised at all to see six kids sneaking across her lawn.

“Come, children,” she said. “I have treats for you.”

I glanced back at Danny. He shrugged and said, “Guess she's lonely or something.”

That seemed reasonableâsort of. I started to follow her around to the backyard. Ronald shouted, “Treats, here I come,” pushed me aside,
and ran ahead. He caught up with Old Lady Flugle and asked, “Hey lady, what kind of treats?”

“All kinds, young man,” she said. Then she patted him on the head. Yuck. His hair was always so greasy; I'd rather touch a frog.

The rest of us came more slowly. We all stopped at the edge of the backyard, huddled together, staring. There was a table in a clear area in the middle of a flower garden. There were seven chairs at the table. There were plates and cups. Seven plates. Seven cups.

Old Lady Flugle pointed toward the chairs. We took our seats. Ronald dove right in to a bowl of pretzels. The rest of us knew enough to wait and be polite, but our hostess didn't seem to mind Ronald's bad manners. “Yes, feel right at home,” she said as she joined us at the table. “Be yourselves. That's what is so marvelous about children. They don't pretend to be anything other than what they are.”

She filled glasses with punch and passed the drinks to us. I waited until I saw her take a sip, then tasted mine. It was that fake cherry flavor that's like really sweet candyâthe kind that makes your teeth tingle. I liked it.

“Got more?” Ronald asked, holding up the empty pretzel bowl.

“Of course, dear,” Old Lady Flugle said. She left for a moment.

That's when April screamed, “Yeeeeek!” and jumped up. “There's something on my chair.”

It was just a garden slug, sort of like a big snail
without a shell. They're kind of slimy, but they don't hurt anyone.

“Put some salt on it,” Ronald said, pointing to the shaker in the middle of the table.

I knew that salt was bad news for slugs. It sucks the moisture right out of them and they dry up. I grabbed a paper napkin from the center of the table, picked the slug off the chair, and took it to the edge of the lawn. I figured it would be safe there.

By then, our hostess had returned. “I must say, it's wonderful to have you children finally visit me. I see you pass by, but you never stop to chat.” She put another bowl of pretzels in front of Ronald.

Nobody said anything. The silence, broken only by Ronald's crunching and slurping, grew uncomfortable. Finally, I spoke up. “We didn't really know you.”

“I understand,” she said, nodding. “And that is a fine excuse. It is perfectly reasonable to be a bit shy. Indeed, at times it is an admirable trait. But it is not reasonable or admirable to pull mischievous shenanigans. Would you believe that some hooligan once painted nasty words on my front fence?”

“I'm sure nobody meant to hurt your feelings,” I said. I glanced around the table. Everyone else nodded, except Ronald, who was looking away. It was funny, but I found this woman easy to talk with. I actually started enjoying myself.

So did most of the other kids. Danny was a real clown. He made us all laugh. And April is a great
listener. When Nanny Flugleâthat's what she told us to call herâstarted telling stories about her childhood, April got real interested and asked some very good questions. I could tell that Nanny Flugle was happy we were there. She had lots of wonderful stories. But she'd had some problems, too. Someone had put holes in a couple of her windows last year with a BB gun. And some kid was always knocking over her garbage cans. It didn't seem fair that this nice old lady would be the victim of so many mean pranks.

Before I knew it, the day was almost over. “Well,” Nanny Flugle said, “you children have given me a most magical experience. And now, it is my pleasure to return the favor. Some folks say that all children are animals.” Her voice dropped close to a whisper. “But this is not a bad thing. It can be wonderful to be an animal.”

She looked straight at me. “Child, you are brave and beautiful. You are an eagle.” She wove her hands in a strange pattern. I felt dizzy for a moment.

I gripped the edge of the chair with my claws.

I spread my wings.

I flew.

It was glorious. I felt that I could soar and fly forever. But I knew it wasn't meant to last. I returned to the garden. She made her magic again and I was a girl. But I was a girl who had known the world through the eyes of an eagle.

Then Danny became a chimpanzee. I'm sure he loved it. He did stunts and climbed and frolicked until his turn ended. It was wonderful to see.
Everyone watched, amazed and amused, and, if they were like me, just a tiny bit scared. Except for Ronald, who still had his face buried in the food.

Then April became a deer. Beth, who loved to swim, became a fish in the small pond at the edge of the garden. Mark, who is quiet and extremely smart, became a fox.

“Come visit again,” Nanny Flugle said after she made Mark into a boy once more.

“Hey! What about me?” Ronald looked up from the pretzel bowl, his face full of anger, his mouth full of food. “Don't I get a turn?”

Nanny Flugle smiled. “If you insist,” she said.

“Yeah. I insist.” He pointed at us. “They got turns. It's not fair if I don't.”

“I suppose you're right.” Nanny Flugle did her magic again.

“Yeeeeek!” April said again.

“Ick,” I said.

Ronald had become a giant slug. I had to admit that Nanny Flugle had a knack for picking the right animal for each of us.

Danny reached toward the salt shaker. “I'm tempted,” he said.

But I knew he was joking. None of us would do something to hurt anyone. Well, maybe Ronald would, but he was in no position to do much of anything.

At that moment, Ronald slid off his chair and hit the ground with a sluggy
splat
. I waited for him to crawl around or do something interesting, but he quivered like a nervous tower of Jell-O. Then he started jerking around.

“Oh dear,” Nanny Flugle said. She went over and picked up the empty bowl by Ronald's seat. “He certainly did eat a lot of pretzels. Salty pretzels.”

I looked at Ronald, whose slug stomach was stuffed with salt. He was shrinking before my eyes, getting smaller and full of wrinkles. I had a funny feeling he'd eaten his last snack. That made me sad.

“Cheer up,” Nanny Flugle said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I'm sure you can find another catcher for your ball games.”

I guess she could read minds, too.

SNAKELAND

“
T
his vacation stinks,” Jason said for about the hundredth time that day from his prison in the backseat of the family car.

“Now, Jay,” his mom said, looking over her shoulder, “you'll never have any fun with that kind of attitude.”

“Why can't we go somewhere good? There's nothing to do out here.” He waited, but she didn't answer. He couldn't believe they'd actually gone to a desert for vacation. A stupid
desert
. All this sand was useless without an ocean. It was a giant waste of time.

“Hey, see that sign?” his dad asked from his seat of power behind the steering wheel. “It's only four miles to Snakeland. Now that sounds like a fun place to stop. You like snakes, don't you, Jayboy?”

Jason grunted, not wanting to admit that anything on this trip could interest him.

“Okeydokey, let's go.” Jason's dad turned onto the next exit ramp. He glanced toward his wife. “Do you mind?”

“I guess not.”

They drove several more miles, traveling past lots of sand and little else. Up ahead, Jason spotted two buildings jutting out of the empty landscape. The sign in front of the farther one said DESERT VIEW MOTEL.
Pretty hard not to have a desert view anywhere around here,
Jason thought. The other building must be Snakeland. There was a sign between the two buildings, near the edge of the road, but it was facing the other way.

“What a dump,” Jason said as they pulled into the empty Snakeland parking lot. Secretly, he was pleased by the thought that the place would disappoint his parents. Maybe a couple of bad tourist experiences would teach his dad a lesson about picking vacation spots.

“I think it's closed,” his mom said, looking around.

His dad pointed to a handwritten sign that said OPEN. They walked to the door. It was unlocked. Jason noticed large words freshly painted on the outside wall of the building: COMING SOONâTHE TERROR OF THE AMAZON.

Probably an anaconda,
Jason thought. That would be neat to see. He'd read about those giant snakes in school. They grew to be over twenty feet long. He'd heard they could swallow other animals up whole. But there wouldn't be anything
that good here. Not on this stupid vacation, and certainly not in this ridiculous roadside ripoff. Jason followed his parents into the building, where warm, damp air fell over him like a wool blanket.

“Welcome to Snakeland.” A man rose from a chair against the far wall and came forward, looking at them as if he was starving and they were lunch. “Please come in. A fabulous assortment of our slithery friends await your visit. And your timing is perfect. We have a special bargain todayâone child free with any two adult admissions.”

“I'm not a child,” Jason muttered, stepping away from the man.

“What a deal,” his dad said as he pulled out his wallet.

“Wonderful, wonderful,” the man said, reaching eagerly for the money. “My stupendous serpents are anxious to meet you. They are lovely, yes they are. But it pains me to tell you that my fabulous new display is not quite ready. Soon, any day, but not yet. No, not yet. Still, there is much here for you to see. “Go,” he said, sweeping his right hand toward the far wall,”and see all the wonders of my reptile companions. Be sure to spend time with Percy the Python.”

Jason walked through a door at the other end of the room and headed toward the exhibits. Behind him, he could still hear the man talking. “Not just snakes,” he called after Jason. “Lizards, too, and even spiders. Far-flung samples of critters large and small. New exhibits all the time.”

“Thrilling,” Jason said, shaking his head. He
suspected he'd have had a better time staying home all summer. This place certainly couldn't be any fun. As he'd expected, Snakeland wasn't much more than a bunch of glass tanks holding snakes and other creatures. It was like a trip to a small zoo. Percy the Python was half interesting. He was pretty big, but he didn't do anything. He just lay at the bottom of his pit like a bloated garden hose.

But something else caught Jason's interest. Next to a door at the end of a hall, he saw another sign. Like the ad on the front of the building, this sign announced the Terror of the Amazon. At the bottom was a warning: NOT RECOMMENDED FOR SMALL CHILDREN. Jason decided it wouldn't hurt to sneak a quick peek, even if the exhibit wasn't ready yet. He started to open the door.

“Feeding time!”

Jason yanked his hand away from the knob and spun around. There was Mr. Reptile, or whatever his name was, holding a pair of cages filled with squirming white rats. The man was grinning. “Well, how about that? You are one lucky boy. They don't eat every day, you know. Nope. They're not like us. But today is the day. And you get to watch. No extra charge.”

Jason shrugged. It beat looking at another dose of this endless scenic desert splendor. One more gorgeous sunset and he was sure he would lose his lunch. He followed the man and watched the rats start the long process of becoming snake turds.
Jason didn't feel at all sorry for the rodents. Some creatures were just meant to be food. That's life.

“What about him?” Jason asked, pointing to the large python in a pit behind an iron fence.

“Maybe Percy will eat tonight,” the man said. “Feeding time is over for now. Run along.”

Jason finished his tour, then met up with his folks. As they were looking through the small gift shop, Jason's dad asked the man, “How's that motel up the road?”

“Just fine. Absolutely fine and dandy. Best motel around here.
Only
motel around here.”

“Good. It's about time to stop for the day.” Jason's dad led his family to the parking lot.

Jason looked at the cheap piece of junk he'd bought in the gift shopâa rattlesnake skull complete with fangs. “Probably died of boredom,” Jason muttered as he stuck the skull in the front pocket of his shorts.

Behind them, the man was calling, “Come back soon and see the Terror of the Amazon. We're always adding new attractions. Tell your friends.”

He kept talking, but his voice faded as they got in the car and drove off.

After a day in the desert heat and an hour in the dankness of Snakeland, Jason was dying for a swim.

“Where's the pool?” he asked the man at the desk.

“No pool,” the man said.

“That figures,” Jason muttered. As he soon found out, the motel didn't even have cable. It did have enough empty rooms so Jason got his own next door to his parents.

“This really rots,” he shouted, dumping his suitcase on the bed. He looked out the window. There it was, that sign, advertising the Terror of the Amazon. Jason had come so close to getting into the display, he had to satisfy his curiosity. He knew his folks would go to sleep early. He just needed to wait â¦ .

That night, when he was sure his parents were asleep, Jason slipped from his room. Even after a week in the desert, Jason still wasn't used to how cool it grew at night. He shivered as he crossed the sand toward Snakeland. For a moment, he considered going back and changing from shorts to jeans. But it didn't seem worth bothering for such a brief trip. Despite what his mom might say, a couple of minutes in shorts wouldn't kill him.

The door was still unlocked. “Hello?” Jason said, stepping inside. If the man caught him, Jason planned to explain that he was coming back to see him feed the python.

Straight ahead,
Jason thought,
left, down the hall, then right.
He remembered the path to the closed room. It was just past the python. He made his way, using the moonlight that came through the windows. There was the door, straight ahead. Nothing else lay between him and the Terror of the Amazon.

“Feeding time!”

Arms wrapped around Jason, pinning his elbows to his chest. He struggled and kicked. “Let me go!”

“Time to feed the python. Percy gets tired of rabbit. You're a lucky boy. You get to watch for
free,” the man said, his mouth just inches from Jason's right ear. He dragged Jason toward the pit. “Even better, you get to watch from the inside.” He started laughing.

Jason twisted and jerked, trying to break loose. His hand hit against his pocket, striking a hard and sharp object. The skull! He yanked it free and jabbed the fangs into the man's hand.

The man yelped and jerked his arm back. Jason, suddenly free, stumbled forward. He knew he couldn't get past the man. He raced away from him, toward the door that held the Terror of the Amazon.

He could hear the man chasing him.

Jason pushed at the door. It moved an inch, then stuck.

“No!” the man yelled.

Jason slammed his shoulder against the door. It flew open. His momentum carried him through. His first step landed on the floor. His second step met nothing but air. Jason screamed as he fell. For a sickening second he was weightless, too surprised to brace himself for whatever waited below.

A heartbeat later, Jason hit water. He went under, then splashed to the surface, coughing and choking. As he thrashed his arms, he heard the man shouting. Jason looked desperately for another door. Nothing on either side. He looked across the pool. A sheet covered the wall in front of him. Maybe there was an exit behind it.

“Get out of there!” the man yelled. “Right now!”

“No way,” Jason said. With a few strong strokes, he swam to the other side. He reached to pull himself out. The floor was too high above his head. Jason barely got his hands over the edge. As he tried to struggle out, he banged his bare knee against the side of the pool. The pain was so intense, he lost his grip and fell back.

His knee stung as the water hit the wound. He reached desperately toward the edge and grabbed a handful of soft fabric. He pulled. The sheet ripped from the wall, revealing another crude, hand-painted sign.

For an instant, Jason stared at the sign. For an instant, he froze. Maybe, if he had moved sooner, things would have been different.

Large, red letters exclaimed: THE TERROR OF THE AMAZON. SEE THEM HERE. LIVE PIRANHAS. KILLER FISH THAT CAN STRIP A COW IN SECONDS. FEEDINGS AT NOON AND EIGHT. At the bottom, there was a painting of an animal, perhaps a cow, its eyes impossibly wide with fear, thrashing in a river while the water churned and boiled in fury.

Jason felt a hundred sharp stings at once.

Across the room, the man closed the door.

BOOK: The Psychozone

10.35Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads