R. L. Stine_Mostly Ghostly 06 (8 page)

Sputtering, coughing, I felt myself rising from the floor.

“Help! Put me down!” I gasped.

They were carrying me, lifting me off the floor and sweeping me away.

“Nicky! Tara!”

I tried to call to my friends. But my words were swallowed by the thick, steaming smoke.

I was moving fast now. Being swept away.

I couldn't see.

I couldn't breathe.

Where were they taking me?

What did they want with me?

L
IKE FLOATING IN A
dream, I thought.

Floating blindly, not asleep.

But not awake, either.

I had the terrifying thought that I was going to float like this forever, inside a heavy black cloud.

Float without seeing, without breathing, without
being anywhere.

Was I still alive? Or had the bats smothered me to death?

The burning pain in my throat, my nostrils, my chest told me I was still alive. My hacking coughs and loud, wheezing breaths told me I was still alive.

But how long would these two shades hold me in their smoky grip?

How long would I float, helpless, like this?

The question was answered quickly.

I landed hard on both feet. My body was jarred as pain shot up my legs and back, to my shoulders.

“Owww. Oh, help.”

I stumbled forward into the smoke.

And the haze started to lift. Slowly, the black turned to gray. And then I could see the faint image of tiles on a wall in front of me.

Resting my hands on my knees, I bent forward and concentrated on breathing. I took a long, cool breath, then slowly let it out.

Then another.

The dizziness started to fade. I watched the two shades drift away from me.

They whirled low over my head, tangling together. Two smoke bats hissing as they darted back and forth above me.

And then they rose up high, twisting round and round each other —and vanished through the yellow tile wall.

Still breathing hard, I stared at the wall. I waited for them to come shooting back.

But … no sign of them.

Trembling, I spun around. Where was I? Where had they carried me?

My teeth were chattering. I tightened my jaw hard, trying to stop them.

Bright white moonlight poured through a long window. The light shimmered off the high ceiling and sparkled in front of me.

In the water.

Water?

I shook my head, trying to clear it.

And I finally recognized where I was standing.

The new swimming pool at school. The swimming pool that I'd helped to dedicate just a few months before.

I was standing at the edge of the pool. With a gasp, I stumbled back until I was pressed against the wall.

No lights were on. The moonlight shimmering in the pool made the only light. The water splashed softly, lapping against the sides of the pool.

Why did the shades bring me here?

I slid down to the floor and sat cross-legged on the cool tiles. I took deep breaths, inhaling the sharp chlorine smell, and tried to calm myself down.

Tried to think clearly.

Why am I here? Why?

Nothing I thought about made any sense. I stared at the sparkling lights dancing on the water. And I shivered.

Then I heard a sharp cough.

Footsteps clicking on the tiles. I wasn't alone.

Feeling my whole body tense, I jumped to my feet.

“Who —who's there?” My question came out in a choked whisper.

I gasped when I recognized the short, chubby figure who stepped out of the shadows.

Mayor Stank!

He came walking toward me quickly along the edge of the pool, shoes clicking on the hard floor. He wore a gray business suit with a bright yellow necktie.

He had a wide grin on his face. His bald head ref lected the twinkling moonlight, making him look all silvery and strange.

“Remember me, Max?” he called. His voice echoed hollowly off the walls.

“Why —y-yes,” I stammered, pressing myself against the wall to stop my trembling.

He stopped a few feet from me. His eyes glowed brightly. His grin grew wider. “Remember me, Max? Mayor Stank? Remember? You pushed me into the pool? On TV? In front of the whole town? Remember?”

I just nodded. I couldn't speak.

“Well, I don't forget things, Max,” he said, lowering his voice to a growl. “It's payback time.”

H
E MOVED CLOSER.
Close enough for me to see the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead and on his bald head. He kept working his jaw, as if he had a wad of chewing gum in his mouth.

His tiny black eyes were locked on mine.

I pressed myself tightly against the cool wall. The lights danced in front of me. I wanted to shut my eyes, but I knew I couldn't.

I knew I was in major trouble here.

I broke the staring battle. I looked away. Turned my gaze to the gently lapping water.

“Go ahead. Jump in,” he whispered.

“Excuse me?” I blurted out. “Mayor Stank, I —”

“Jump in, Max. Go ahead.”

I took a few steps away from him. I wondered if I could just turn and run.

Was the door open? Could I escape through the exit, or did he have it blocked off somehow?

Were those two shades waiting for me on the other side of the door?

My legs were shaking too hard to run.

My heart pounded so hard, my chest ached. And I could feel my pulse pounding in my eardrums.

Was he
crazy
? Why had he brought me here? To jump in the pool?

“I'm a fair man, Max,” he said, keeping his steely gaze on me. “But I have no choice. I have to pay you back.”

“Wh-why?” I choked out.

He ignored my question. “Go ahead. Jump in the pool,” he said, working his jaw angrily. “Do two hundred laps, and we'll call it even.”

“Huh?” I gasped. “I … I'm not a good swimmer. I
sink.
I can't do two hundred laps on dry land!”

“Funny,” he growled. “But I'm not joking. Do two hundred laps, Max. Stop stalling. Do it. Now.”

“I can't do two hundred,” I said in a shaky voice. “How about five? A compromise? What do you say? Five?”

He scowled at me. “Don't make me laugh so hard. You'll give me wrinkles.”

“I —I'm serious,” I stammered. “I can't —”

“You're going in the water, Max,” he said softly. “You can come out when you've done two hundred laps.”

“But —but —” I sputtered. “My skin! I'll get all
pruney. How will that look for my class pictures on Monday?”

“I'm a fair man,” he said again. He wiped sweat off his bald head with the palm of his hand. “You pushed me in the pool. You made a fool of me. Now I just want us to be even.”

“You're crazy! You can't do this!” I cried, balling my hands into tight fists. I felt my anger start to burn my chest. “I don't care if you're the mayor! You can't force me to swim laps!”

Mayor Stank let out a long sigh. He raised his eyes and peered over my shoulder. “Quentin,” he said, “push your friend Max into the water.”

I turned and saw Quentin step out from the shadows.

“Push him in,” Mayor Stank ordered.

Quentin hesitated for a long moment. Then he said, “Okay, Dad.”

H
UH? DAD?

Did he say
Dad
?

Quentin grabbed my shoulder. He gave me a gentle push toward the edge of the pool.

His blond hair caught the moonlight from the window and made his face glow. I saw his chin tremble. He kept his eyes on the pool. He wouldn't look at me.

“I'm sorry, Max,” he whispered. “I have to do what my dad says.”

He pushed me forward until I was just inches from the water. I spun around to face him. He still wouldn't look me in the eye.

“Your dad is the mayor?” I said. “You never told me.”

“Quentin, get a move on. Stop stalling,” Mayor Stank called. Again, he wiped sweat off his bald head with one hand. “Let's get the Max Olympics started.”

Quentin had both hands on my shoulders. I tried to push back, but he was surprisingly strong.

He lowered his head so that his dad wouldn't see him talk to me. “I wanted to be your friend,” he whispered. “But Dad wouldn't let me. He forced me to spy on you. He forced me to get you here.”

My heels poked over the edge of the pool. “Don't I even get to undress?” I called to Mayor Stank. “How about I go home and get my swim trunks?”

“You pushed me in when I was wearing my best suit,” he replied. “I'm just trying to be fair, Max. You can't criticize me for trying to be fair, can you?”

“It's hard to say what's fair and what's not fair,” I said. “Maybe we should sit down somewhere. You know. In a nice, dry place. And talk about it.”

“Nice try,” the mayor said, narrowing his tiny eyes at me.

“He made me do everything,” Quentin whispered. “I had found an old spell book in your house. He made me use a spell from it to call up those two shades. I was so frightened.”

“Me too,” I muttered.

“I'm really sorry I messed up your party,” Quentin said.

I gazed over my shoulder at the sparkling water.

“No way can I swim all those laps,” I told Quentin.

“My dad really holds a grudge,” Quentin whispered. “It's one of his biggest faults.”

“What are you two yakking about?” Mayor Stank cried angrily. “Shut up and push him in. Then I've got a good job for you, Quentin. You can be the official scorekeeper. You get to count the laps.”

“That'll be an easy job,” I muttered. “You only have to count to three or four. And then you can watch me
drown
!”

“I'm really sorry, Max,” Quentin whispered. “I hope you'll accept my apology.”

He spun me around and gave me a hard push.

I searched for my ghost friends. “Nicky? Tara?” I shouted. “Are you here? Help me!”

“N
ICKY
? T
ARA
?”

My voice echoed off the tile walls.

I shut my eyes, praying to hear their voices. But no. The only sound was my harsh breathing and the soft splash of the water in front of me.

“Nicky? Tara?”

“That's an old trick!” Mayor Stank shouted. “You're trying to make me think someone else is here. I'm smarter than that, Max. I'm the mayor. I didn't get the job by being dumb.”

I had to stall. I had to think of a way to escape. “Uh … my dad voted for you!” I called.

“I met your dad once,” Mayor Stank said. “He's a jerk.”

Quentin tightened his grip on my arms. I was seconds away from drowning time.

“Go ahead, Quentin,” the mayor said, motioning with both hands. “One more push. Time for the entertainment to start.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “I'm sure you
understand, Max. I don't want to hurt you. I just want to get even.”

“Sorry,” Quentin whispered one more time.

He pushed me forward.

The water rose up in front of me.

And in that instant, I had an idea. An idea to rescue myself.

It was a crazy idea. Totally insane.

No way could it possibly work …

I
TWISTED MY BODY.
Spun around to face Quentin. Raised my hands —and dug them into his armpits.

I remembered that afternoon in my room when Colin had started to tickle me. He'd tickled me until I screamed. And when we looked across the room, Quentin had frozen.

Quentin had gone into some kind of trance.

Later, he said he had a strange reaction to tickling. He just couldn't
stand
it. It always put him in a weird frozen state.

As Quentin shoved me toward the pool, I remembered that afternoon. And I thought, Maybe … Maybe like son, like father.

Would Quentin's dad have the same strange reaction to tickling?

I dug my fingers hard into Quentin's armpits. “Tickle! Tickle!” I screamed. “Are you ticklish?”

“Stop!”
Quentin cried, twisting and squirming, frantic to escape.

I lowered my hands to his ribs and tickled hard. “Tickle, tickle! Who's ticklish?”

“Stop. …Oh…oh…” Quentin fell backward, kicking his legs in the air. Helpless. Like a turtle on its back.

I dug my fingers into his ribs. Into his belly.

“Stop … Please —Max!”

I tickled harder. Tickled his ribs, his stomach, his armpits.

Quentin froze. Eyes wide open. His whole body just went stiff.

He was in that strange trance again.

Gasping for breath, I jumped to my feet. And turned to the mayor.

Was it working? Did Mayor Stank have the same weird reaction as his son?

Yes!

My heart pounding, I saw him standing stiffly in place. His mouth hung open, twisted as if
he
was the one being tickled. His eyes were bulging. His hands were at his sides, balled into tight fists.

He didn't move. He was in the ticklish trance.

I took a deep shuddering breath. And stepped back a few paces from the pool edge.

And as I did, I saw the mayor stagger forward. Mouth frozen open, eyes bulging without blinking. In his trance, the mayor stumbled —and toppled into the pool with a loud, echoing splash.

Q
UENTIN DID N'T MOVE.
He lay on his back with both legs in the air, staring up at the ceiling.

I stepped over him and walked to where Mayor Stank had fallen in. I heard him splashing and thrashing, and I saw water wash up onto the tile floor.

“Help me!” the mayor screamed.

The cold water must have snapped him out of his trance.

“Help me, Max! I can't swim!”

I got down on my knees, leaned over the side, and stretched out my hand. The mayor tried to reach it, but he sank below the surface, then popped back up, coughing and choking and sputtering.

His pudgy fingers slapped at the water. His bright yellow necktie floated up over his face, and he frantically swiped it away.

“Help me! Don't just sit there watching!” he screamed.

“I'm trying to help you!” I shouted.

He sputtered and coughed some more. And sank under the water for a few seconds.

“My shoes! My shoes are weighing me down!” he cried when he came back up. “Help me, Max!”