Invasion of the Road Weenies (2 page)

“Well, just let me know ahead of time if you want a costume,” her mother told her.

“I'll stick with this one,” Jennifer said. “It's kind of fun. And it fits me really well.”

I
was having a
rotten day. First thing in the morning, I broke my camera. I know I shouldn't have left it on the floor right next to my bed, but that doesn't do me much good now. Then, right after breakfast, I accidentally dropped my toothbrush in the toilet.

When I told my friend Pauli what had happened, he said, “Well, it's almost over.”

“What do you mean?”

“My grandma says that bad things happen in threes,” Pauli told me. “You've had two bad things happen, so you've just got one more to get through and it's over.”

“That's silly,” I said.

I liked Pauli's grandma. She baked great cookies, and she always used lots of chocolate chips. But she was full of superstitions. And her accent was so thick, I had a hard time understanding her when she talked. She said
mek
instead of
make,
and
true
instead of
through.
I could just hear her telling Pauli that bad things happen in threes, but it would
sound like
Bed tings heppen en treeze.
No matter how she said it, it was just a superstition.

“It might be silly,” Pauli told me, “but if I were you, I'd be careful today.”

“Yeah, right.” I wasn't too worried. “Come on, let's play ball.” I got my basketball from the garage and started to dribble it down the driveway.

The ball broke on the second bounce.

It just burst and went flat. I'd never seen a basketball do that.

“Bad thing,” Pauli said.

“Shut up,” I told him. But then I realized something. If bad things happen in threes, the bad part of my day was over. “I'm safe now,” I said. “Watch this.”

I got the ladder and climbed up the side of my house. Then I closed my eyes and ran along the top of the roof.

“Careful,” Pauli shouted.

“Don't worry.” I really felt great. It was wonderful knowing that nothing bad could happen to me now. I stood on one leg and spun around.

“Come on, get down,” Pauli said.

“Okay.” I went to the lowest part of the roof and jumped to the lawn. Naturally, I landed without any trouble.

For the rest of the day, I pushed my luck, and it held. As evening fell, Pauli and I wandered over to his house. When we got there, I looked toward the top of the huge oak in his front yard. My kite was still stuck up there from last fall.

“I'm getting it,” I said.

“No,” Pauli said. “That's crazy. It's too high.”

“Watch me.” I started climbing the oak. I felt fabulous and free. Nothing could hurt me.

“Denjer!”

I looked down as I heard the shout.
Denjer?
I thought.

Pauli's grandma was down below me—far down below, waving a dish towel like a flag and shouting. “Denjer! Denjer!”

Oh. I got it. She was shouting “danger.”

“It's okay,” I called to her. “I'm safe.”

“Bed tings heppen in treeze,” she shouted.

“But it's okay,” I called back, smiling at the way she'd pronounced the words.

“In treeze! In treeze!” she shouted, pointing to the oak I'd climbed.

Pointing to the oak
tree,
I realized. At that same instant, I heard something start to crack. The branch I was standing on tore from the tree with a splintering scream.

I fell. Also letting out a splintering scream.

I managed to land on Pauli, and that sort of broke my fall. But I still broke my leg. His grandma sure was right. Bad things happen in trees.

T
he gate to the
cemetery wasn't locked.

That had been Eric's last hope. He'd been prepared to shake the bars, then turn to his friends and say, “Guess we can't do it.”

The gate swung when he pushed, moving without the slightest creak. To Eric, the unexpected silence was worse than any graveyard moan of rusted metal. He felt as if he was watching a movie with the sound turned off. For an instant, he thought of an old, scratchy silent film—that first vampire movie with the freaky-looking bald guy.

“I'm out of here,” Bennet said.

Eric made no comment as Bennet raced away. He watched Jacob and Lance, wondering if they'd chicken out, too. They both looked at him, obviously wondering the same thing.

Last
chance,
Eric thought. All three of them could quit right now, and there'd be no blame anywhere. But the moment came and passed. Eric drew a deep breath of the damp
air and stepped through the gate of the cemetery. He checked his watch. Just ten minutes to go. Then, he could leave. He couldn't even remember which of them had suggested they visit a cemetery at midnight.

But once the idea had been spoken, they'd teased and taunted each other until they had to do it. Eric couldn't admit that the cemetery terrified him. Even in daylight—even as far as possible from midnight—he avoided this field of headstones and monuments. Eric thought about last year, when they'd buried Hunter Reynolds. Eric had pretended to be sick so he wouldn't have to go to the funeral and the cemetery. He hadn't even really known Hunter. They weren't in any of the same classes at school. They'd been on that Little League team together three years back, the one that had almost made it to the state playoffs, but that was it.

Eric always kept as much distance as he could between himself and the dead.

Until now.

They walked toward the center of the cemetery, the spot they'd agreed upon for their midnight adventure. Jacob was the next to turn and run. “I can't,” he said when they were halfway there. “Sorry.”

“Looks like it's just you and me,” Lance said.

“Yeah.” Eric squeezed out that single word, not trusting his voice to speak a full sentence without trembling.
Not much farther,
he told himself. It wasn't that far to midnight, and it wasn't that far to the center of the cemetery.

Lance stopped walking. “You hear that?”

“No.” Eric looked around. “What?”

“I heard something. Footsteps.”

“Cut it out.” Eric listened to the dead silence around him.

“Man, don't you hear it?” Lance asked.

Eric shook his head.

“Forget this,” Lance said. He spun away from Eric and sprinted back toward the gate.

Eric knew he was free to follow his friends. Just being the last to leave—that was a victory. But he was so close. He checked his watch. Only five more minutes.

He continued walking toward the center of the cemetery, his breath growing shallow, his ears straining for any hint of the sounds that had spooked Lance. He heard nothing. Any other place on Earth, the peacefulness would have been pleasant. Here, the silence was a reminder of what lay beneath the ground.

Eric reached the center of the cemetery, then checked his watch. Three minutes. He knew he could make it.

Just this once,
he told himself. All he had to do was stay in place and fight the terror for a little while, and he'd be able to do anything—face any fear at all. He looked at the rows of headstones, wondering where Hunter was buried.

“People don't understand.”

The voice from behind cut into his thoughts like a hatchet. Eric spun and shouted in surprise.

“Hey, relax,” the man said.

“You scared me,” Eric said. “I didn't hear you walk up.” He was surprised a guy that big could move so quietly.

The man laughed and scraped a foot against the ground.
“I'm not a ghost,” he said. He slapped his chest. “See, real and solid.”

“Yeah.” Eric waited for his nerves to stop buzzing.

The man put a hand on Eric's shoulder. “People don't understand,” he said. “There's nothing scary here. The dead won't hurt you.”

“Guess not,” Eric said. He wanted to pull away.

“No,” the man said, “the dead don't hurt anyone. And they keep their secrets.”

Eric tried to step back. The fingers tightened on his shoulder.

“It's the living,” the man said. “The people who haunt the places where nobody goes. That's who you have to watch out for. It's the people in the alleys, the people in the cemetery at night, the people who hope to catch you alone.”

“What?” Eric pulled harder against the man's grip, trying to get free without turning his attempt into a struggle. He didn't understand what this man was talking about. But deep inside, he was afraid he knew exactly what the man meant.

The bell in the town clock began to strike the hour.

The man laughed. He reached toward Eric with his other hand. “Let me go!” Eric shouted. He twisted his body, breaking loose. The instant he slipped from the man's grasp, Eric rushed blindly away.

The man swore and chased after him. Eric could hear the footsteps close behind him. He knew that any second he'd be tackled or grabbed and swept off his feet. Then he'd be
found dead like Hunter Reynolds, and the adults would talk about it in whispers.

Eric shouted again, but the bell drowned out his voice. He ran across a stretch of manicured lawn, dodging left and right between headstones, knowing his feet were landing on graves, knowing he stepped on the dead as he raced for his own life.

“Run, boy, run,” the man behind him yelled. “Makes it more fun.”

The sound of the bell wrapped around Eric like deep water. He gasped, trying to find more speed. As the twelfth peal rode on a wave through the air, Eric heard a scream—short, cut off, a howl of frustration and surprise—followed by another sound that he'd never forget—the wet thud of a thick fruit smashed against a sidewalk.

Eric dared a glance over his shoulder.

He stopped in his tracks. In this field of death, the living man who'd pursued him had—suddenly and undeniably—joined the dead. Trembling, Eric crept back even as his mind screamed for him to keep running.

The man had tripped and fallen, hitting his head on a gravestone. Eric didn't want to look, but he had to. Death was still and quiet and final. The man's legs rested above a grave. The earth was undisturbed except for a spot next to the man's right foot. Here the earth was pushed up, the grass torn, as if a hand had risen to clutch at the passing ankle.

Eric knelt and gently touched the stone. “Thanks,” he whispered. He didn't need to read the inscription. He knew
who was buried there. “Thanks, Hunter. Sorry I didn't come before.”

There was no answer. He expected none. Eric stood and walked slowly toward the cemetery gate. He had no urge to rush. He had no fear. He knew the dead would never hurt him.

I
hate getting dragged
to Dad's office for Take Our Kids to Work Day. It's so boring, I want to scream. But at least I had company this year. My little brother was finally old enough to get dragged along with me.

“You kids are in for a real treat,” Dad said when we pulled into the parking lot. “We've upgraded our mail room. And we got a new shredder for the office. Bet you can't wait to see that baby in action, right?”

“Right, Dad,” I said, grabbing Nicky by the collar so he wouldn't wander into the path of any of the dozens of cars zipping through the parking lot.

Dad continued listing the wonders that lay ahead of us. “And here's the best part. We just put in two new copiers. Real high-speed top-of-the-line machines. The best money can buy.”

Shoot. When he said that, I realized I'd forgotten to bring something to copy. It's fun to run off a couple hundred cartoons
and pass them out at school. But I didn't have anything with me.

Wait. That wasn't true. I had something way goofier than a cartoon. I had Nicky. The moment we got to Dad's office, I asked if I could check out the copy room.

“Sure,” Dad said. “You know the way. Just don't fool around too much. The company has a policy against personal copies.”

“You can trust me,” I said. “Come on, Nicky, I'll show you Dad's awesome new copiers.” I grinned at the thought of how personal a copy could be.

I led Nicky down the hall to the copy room. We were in luck. The place was all ours. “Here,” I said, pulling a chair over to one of the copiers. “Get up.”

Nicky climbed onto the chair. I lifted the lid of the copier. “Put your face down here,” I said. “But close your eyes. It can get real bright.”

As always, Nicky did what I told him. I tried to set the machine for ten copies, but my finger slipped. The display showed one thousand.
Hey, why not,
I thought, deciding to leave the number the way it was.

“Here goes.” I hit the
COPY
button.

Man, that sucker was fast. After a couple of seconds, copies started flying out like bullets from a machine gun. They looked real cool. Nicky had his face scrunched up, but you could tell it was him.

I glanced at the second copier and got another idea. I almost didn't do it, but I couldn't resist. Hey—what's the
harm? I slipped down my pants and sat on the machine. I'd heard about kids doing this, but I'd never tried it. I reached over and hit the buttons. Might as well make a thousand copies of my butt to go along with the thousand of Nicky's face.

My machine was even faster. Before I knew it, I'd run off the whole batch. I hopped down and walked back over to Nicky.

“Hey, these aren't that good.” I grabbed a copy as it shot out of the machine. The image was kind of faded. I thumbed through the stack. Maybe the machine was running out of supplies. Each copy that came out was a bit more faded.

“Can I get up now?” Nicky asked as the machine hummed to a stop. His voice sounded really muffled.

“Sure. Yeah. It's done.”