The Birthday Party of No Return! (5 page)

I stared in horror as the flames danced over the keyboard. My panic lasted only a few seconds.

I dove forward and slammed the lid shut. Would that put out the flames?

Black smoke sizzled up from the back. Then the smoke faded away.

Silence.

I didn't move. I froze there, holding my breath, waiting to see if the flames would shoot up again.

Finally, I touched the lid. It wasn't hot. I flipped it open.

The flames were gone. The keyboard was charred black. A lot of the keys had melted onto one another.

Ruined. It was totally destroyed.

How did that happen? I just powered it on, and it burst into flames.

I knew my parents would take it back to the store and buy me a new one. But all my work was lost. My history notes were on it. And my book report that was due next Friday. And science stuff…

My birthday party photos. The photos I snapped on the class trip…

All lost.

I stared down at the black, melted keys.
What bad luck.

I felt the vulture claw press against my chest. I pulled it out and studied it. It seemed okay except for the little tear on one talon.

“What's wrong with you?” I asked it. “Where is the good luck? You've got to come through for me now.”

 

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I felt jumpy. I couldn't lie still. I forced my eyes shut and tried counting down from one thousand.

But I couldn't concentrate. I turned onto my side. Then I tried the other side.

I felt like a restless animal in a zoo. The kind that prowls its cage, back and forth, poking its snout through the spaces between the cage bars.

I sat up and rested my head against the head-board. The bedroom window was open, and white moonlight poured in. Silvery white moonlight almost as bright as day.

I shut my eyes, but I couldn't force out the light.

I knew I was sleepy. My eyelids were heavy. I
had
to sleep. But my brain was spinning. And the bright white light … the light was calling me … forcing me to my feet.

I stood up. I paced my room, my bare feet cold against the carpet. I have a long, narrow room. Not much room to pace.

Like a caged animal
, I thought again.

I spotted my guitar propped against the closet door. I lifted it up and carried it to the bed. I propped it in my lap.

Playing the guitar always relaxes me.

I balanced it on my lap. Then I started to strum.

Something was wrong. It didn't sound right. It didn't …
feel
right.

I squinted into the moonlight. I raised my hand.

And opened my mouth in a scream of horror.

My hand! Where was it? What
happened
to my hand?

I gaped in disbelief at the ragged talons and thick feathers. My hand had turned into a CLAW!

My talons curled around the guitar neck. The strings all started to pop.

Pop pop poppop POP.

The final
pop
was loud enough to wake me up.

“Huh?”

I stared at the ceiling. Shadows shifted above my head in a pale square of moonlight.

I'm lying in bed
, I realized.

I was asleep.

It was a dream. Yes?

I raised both hands from under the covers. Yes. I had two hands. No giant bird claw.

A nightmare. But it seemed so real. I could still see every detail.

Still see the big feathery claw at the end of my arm wrapping around the guitar neck.

I
never
have nightmares. I mean, really never. Not since I was a little kid.

Usually, I can't remember my dreams at all. But mostly, my dreams are about kids at school, and my parents, and playing sports. Boring stuff.

Never nightmares. Never horrifying dreams that wake me up screaming.

Or was I only screaming in the dream?

I checked out my hands again. Just to make sure.

They were fine. Perfectly normal hands.

My heart was still beating hard. A shiver rolled down my body. It was warm in my room, especially under the covers. Why was I shivering?

I pulled up the vulture claw to examine it.

Yes, I wore it when I slept. I wasn't taking chances. I wanted good luck twenty-four hours a day.

The light from outside was dim. I raised the claw close to my face and squinted hard at it.

I gasped when the three talons moved.

It can't be alive. It CAN'T be!

“It's just the darkness,” I murmured to myself. “That nightmare — it upset me. I'm
seeing
things.”

But to my horror, the claw leaped from my hand. It snapped forward — and grabbed me by the throat.

“Unnnnh.”
I made a choking sound as the talons gripped my skin. They tightened. Wrapped around the skin under my chin.

Choked me.

“Unnnnh.”

Tighter. Tighter. The claw squeezed so hard, I wanted to scream in pain.

But I couldn't scream. I couldn't breathe.

The claw gripped my windpipe.

“Unh unnnnh.”
I couldn't make a sound.

I struggled to pull it off with both hands.

It was too strong. Clamped on too tightly. I couldn't budge it.

Oh, nooooo.

I knew what was happening.

It was going to KILL me.

“Lee? Are you okay?”

“Lee — what's your problem?”

I opened my eyes to see Mom and Dad rushing into my bedroom.

Dad clicked on the ceiling light. He was in his striped pajama bottoms. Mom was tying the belt on her blue bathrobe. Her hair fell in tangles over her face.

The bright light made me blink. It took a few seconds for everything to come into focus.

I realized I was sitting on the edge of my bed. My pajamas were all twisted. My face prickled with cold sweat.

Glancing down, I saw that I was holding the claw tightly in front of me.

“What was that scream?” Dad asked, leaning over me. “Did something frighten you?”

“I — I —” I cleared my throat. I raised the claw up to him. “It grabbed me,” I said. “It was … choking me.”

Mom uttered a short cry. She brushed her hair off her face with both hands. Her eyes were on the vulture claw. “Lee, what
is
that thing?”

“It's … something I got in the mail,” I said.

Dad ran a finger over my throat. He squinted at me. Turned my head gently from side to side.

“You had a nightmare,” he said softly.

“Yes. A nightmare,” Mom repeated. She shivered. “That ugly thing would give
me
nightmares, too!”

“Dad, n-no,” I stammered. “It wasn't a nightmare. It was real. It grabbed my neck and —”

“No.” Dad raised a hand, motioning for me to stop. “There aren't any marks on your neck, Lee. No pinch marks. No scratches. Nothing.”

“It was a dream,” Mom said, coming up beside him. “Weird,” she added. “You never have nightmares.”

I blinked. I gazed down at the claw. It wasn't moving. It was stiff and still.

What just happened to me?
I wondered.

Was it a nightmare inside a nightmare?

In the first nightmare, I had a claw instead of a hand. Maybe I never woke up from that dream. Maybe I slid right into the next dream.

And dreamed that the claw snapped over my windpipe.

That had to be what happened. A dream inside a dream. One frightening nightmare after another.

I settled back under the covers. Dad pulled the blanket under my chin.

“Maybe you should put that ugly claw away, Lee,” he said.

“Yes. If it's giving you bad dreams, throw it away,” Mom said.

“No way,” I replied. I tucked the claw under the blanket. “It's a good-luck charm. It brought me a lot of good luck.”

“Good luck? It doesn't look like a good-luck charm to
me
!” Mom said, shaking her head. She led Dad out the door. They clicked off the light.

I lay there on my back in the darkness. I could feel the claw resting lightly on my chest.

Thumpthump thump thumpthump.

That heavy thumping was my heart, right? It wasn't the claw thumping against my chest. Right?

Right?

The next morning, it was hard to wake up. Dad is my alarm clock. He shouts, “Wake up! Rise and shine!” into my room every morning at seven.

It usually takes only one shout. But this morning, he had to give the alarm three times.

Groaning, I sat up. It took all my strength to climb out from under the covers. I still felt shaken from those nightmares. They were just too real.

I checked my hands. Normal. Not claws.

I yawned and stretched. I could smell bacon frying downstairs. It was Friday. Bacon and scrambled eggs day.

Mom believes in a big breakfast. She says it gets you going for the day.

I needed to wake up and get going strong. This afternoon was the next competition for the scholarship. The bowling tournament.

I squeezed the claw under my pajama shirt. I needed all the luck I could get. Bowling is not my best sport.

I took a hot shower. Then I went to the closet to pick out some clothes.

I pulled my best jeans from the top shelf. And my favorite T-shirt — the red one with a big black thumbs-up on the front. I started to pull on the jeans — then stopped. I squinted at the front. What was the dark stain on the front? A big dark circle around the zipper.

It made it look like I had wet myself!

Oh, well. No way I could wear these jeans to school. I heaved them to the floor and went back to my closet for another pair.

Then I raised the T-shirt over my head and started to pull it on. Oh, wait. I couldn't believe it. Both sleeves had big rips at the armpits. The shirt was totally torn.

Mom would never let me wear it to school. I sighed. My favorite T-shirt — ruined. I tossed it on top of the stained jeans and went to choose another one.

What was up with my clothes? How did they get messed up just sitting in my closet?

I went into the bathroom to brush my hair. It's thick and wiry, and I can't really get it to stay flat or anything. But today, I heard a snap. And the comb broke in half.

“Huh?” I stared at the two pieces in my hand. This day was
not
off to a great start.

The claw bounced against my chest as I hurried down the stairs to breakfast. Mom was dressed for school. She stood at the stove, poking the bacon. Out the window, I saw Dad watering his tomato plants.

Mom turned. “No more nightmares?”

I shook my head. “No. I slept fine. But my good jeans? The new ones? They have a stain —”

Mom pointed to the fridge. “Pull out six eggs,” she said. “Two for each of us.”

She never really hears me in the morning. Too much on her mind. I decided I'd tell her about the jeans and T-shirt later.

I pulled open the door to the fridge. The eggs were on the top shelf of the door. I reached for two eggs — then stopped.

Whoa.

I heard a cracking sound. The sound repeated all down the row of eggs.

Crack craaack craaackcraack.

I let out a cry as the eggs cracked open — and scrawny, wet claws came poking out. A dozen sticky claws clenching and unclenching their bony talons.