The Curse of the Campfire Weenies Page 2

  THE TUNNEL OF TERROR

  “No way,” Rachel said. “You guys go. I’ll wait out here.” She put her hand on the sun-heated railing outside the entrance to the Tunnel of Terror ride.

  “Come on,” Penny said. “It’ll be fun. And we already went on the rides that you wanted.”

  “Yeah,” Trish said, rubbing her shoulder. “We did those stupid bumper cars twice. I don’t even like them. Come on. Let’s have some real fun.”

  “It can’t be that scary,” Penny said.

  Rachel looked at the ride. Each car rolled along a short entryway, pushed through double doors, vanished inside a shabby wooden building, then eventually emerged from another set of doors at the far end of the loading platform.

  It’ll be dark in there, she thought. But it was the middle of the day. The sun was high. Rachel figured there would be some cracks of light seeping in. And she could always close her eyes. She took a deep breath. Then, as the air flowed from her lungs, she managed to say, “Okay.”

  “Super.” Penny rushed around the railing.

  “Great.” Trish grabbed Rachel’s arm and ran toward the entrance.

  “Is it scary?” Rachel asked as she gave her ticket to the old man who was sitting on a stool by the gate.

  The man shrugged. “That’s up to you.” He tore her ticket in half and dropped the pieces in a plastic bucket. “But we always give you what you pay for.”

  Before Rachel could ask what he meant, she was herded to the loading area by her friends. As the first car stopped, Penny and Trish jumped in. Rachel realized the car was too small for three riders.

  “Hey!” she called, but the car rolled away. Rachel didn’t want to get too far behind her friends. She jumped into the next car, all by herself, and pulled down the safety bar.

  “It won’t be bad,” she said, speaking aloud to bolster her courage. She kept up the pep talk in her mind: It’s just going to be some mechanical monsters or some stuff painted on the walls. Maybe some dummies with fake blood.

  The car moved toward the double doors. In the dim light, Rachel could see brushstrokes in the flat black paint. Ahead, Penny and Trish’s car pushed open the doors, then slipped inside. The tall back of the car hid them from Rachel’s view.

  Here goes, Rachel thought, as her own car reached the doors and pushed them open with a thud, jolting her against the bar.

  When the doors slammed shut behind her, Rachel entered a darkness so deep it was as if the world had never known such a thing as vision. The room was beyond blackness, a cave within a cave wrapped in layers of velvet.

  Only the jostling of the car let Rachel know she was moving.

  “Penny?” she called out, listening for the sound of another car or the giggles of her friends. “Trish?”

  Her words seemed unable to travel through the darkness. She heard no answer.

  The car spun suddenly, turning sharply to the left and shooting forward. Rachel screamed as she found herself face-to-face with a grinning skull. The jaws of the skull gaped wide, then snapped shut. Rachel grabbed the safety bar to keep from leaping out of her seat.

  Before her scream ended, the car spun away with another jolting twist, leaving the image of the skull burned in her vision as the blackness returned.

  Calm down, she told herself. It’s make-believe. She felt foolish for screaming. All she’d seen was a piece of plastic shaped like a bone. Nothing real. No true terrors.

  The car lurched again.

  A man rose up with an ax in his hands. One of his eyes dangled from its socket.

  Another scream burst from Rachel’s lungs. The car spun back into blackness, then shot almost instantly toward a chamber where a hand thrust up from a freshly dug grave.

  Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. She gripped the bar with both hands and thought about running from the car. Even in her panic, she understood that this would be too dangerous.

  “I’ll wait,” she said out loud. “I’ll just wait until it’s over.” She knew she could survive the ride if she kept her eyes closed.

  The car lurched. Through shut lids Rachel sensed a flash of brightness. She pulled one hand from the bar and covered her eyes, trying to screen out even the faintest hint of what lay in front of her.

  Something brushed her cheek and the back of her hand.

  String, she thought as a small shriek escaped her lips. That’s all it was. Dangling pieces of string.

  Another lurch …

  Leading to another flash.

  And another.

  Soon, Rachel thought. Not much longer. It was a cheap ride in a cheap amusement park. There was no way the ride would last much longer.

  It didn’t.

  A few more lurches and she felt a bump as the car pushed through another pair of swinging doors.

  Rachel quickly dropped her hand and opened her eyes. Bright light made her blink. She stumbled off the car and walked to the exit gate, where her friends were waiting.

  “Cool,” Penny said.

  “Kinda hokey,” Trish said. She looked at Rachel. “Well? What’d you think?”

  Rachel shrugged. “It was okay.”

  “Not too scary for you?” Penny asked.

  “Not at all.” As Rachel walked along the railing, the ticket man smiled at her. Then he squeezed both eyes shut and curled his lips in mock terror.

  Rachel turned away from him. He knows, she thought. But that didn’t matter. It was over and done with.

  “Come on,” Rachel said, tapping Penny on the shoulder. “How about the bumper cars again? What do you—”

  The words froze in Rachel’s mouth as Penny glanced back toward her. Penny’s flesh had turned ancient and wrinkled. Her teeth were yellow and broken, her hair nothing more than wispy strands of white stitched to her scalp. Rachel gasped and closed her eyes. When she opened them, everything was normal.

  “What?” Penny asked. “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” Rachel shook her head. She looked away. It’s my imagination, she thought. The ride just made me imagine that. She stared at a tree across the path.

  A man was impaled on one of the branches, pierced right below his chest. He hung limp and dead. A buzzard sat on his shoulder, pecking at his face.

  Rachel gasped and pointed. She looked toward her friends, then back at the tree.

  The image vanished. In her head, Rachel heard the words of the ticket man: We always give you what you pay for.

  Rachel realized she was still pointing. Her own hand had turned to fleshless bone.

  She thrust it from her sight and looked toward the ground.

  A screaming face rose from the earth at her feet. Rachel lifted her gaze toward the sky. The clouds became severed heads, bloated and bleached white as if they’d been submerged in saltwater for days.

  Rachel stared straight ahead, afraid to shut her eyes again, afraid that any attempt to escape from the images would bring something even worse. As she rushed to catch up with her friends, she wondered how much longer the ride would last.

  A NICE CLEAN PLACE

  The west side of Gunderson Park is pretty dirty and disgusting. I’m not one of those prissy girls who’re scared of a little mud or grease, but the place is bad enough to make me shudder. There’s the trash, of course—candy wrappers, plastic bags, and just about everything else people might throw away. But the place is also loaded with pigeons. And everyone knows what pigeons are loaded with. The statue of General Treron at the far corner of the park is so thick with pigeon droppings you could probably jab a finger into it halfway to the first knuckle without hitting stone.

  I wouldn’t ever choose to be anywhere around there, except it’s a good shortcut to get from town to my street without passing those creepy boys who hang out by the magazine shop. Normally, I’d walk in front of the statue, but I saw Monica Entermayer heading in my direction and I really didn’t want to get trapped into listening to her brag some more about her trip to France. So I ducked in back of General Treron.

  That�
��s how I ended up stepping into a hole behind the statue and falling down into Zupthweld. Luckily, I landed on a bush. Still, I was kind of shaken and just stayed there, feeling totally confused.

  “Hello, Topsider. Welcome to Zupthweld. I am Hobart.”

  I stared up at the man who was greeting me. Except for his extremely pasty complexion, he looked like any other adult. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Steffie.”

  He extended a hand to help me climb out of the bush. “It has been many years since we last had a visitor. I’d be proud to show you the fine points of our marvelous city before you return to Topside.”

  “Thanks.” I noticed I was at the top of a steep hill. A large town was spread out below. Far into the distance I saw houses with neat lawns laid out on wide, clean streets.

  “This way,” Hobart said.

  I followed along as he pointed out the features of Zupthweld. There was a school and a ballpark and lots of houses and some factories. It wasn’t much different from Topside—I mean from home—except that it was amazingly clean. The people we met all smiled at me. Everyone was happy and friendly.

  “Well,” Hobart said as we returned to the bush on the hilltop where I’d fallen. “I guess that’s the end of the tour. Let me help you back to Topside. I’ll fetch a ladder.”

  “Great.” I looked up at the hole I’d fallen through. “Hey, before I go, there’s one thing I have to know.”

  “Yes?”

  “How do you keep it so clean?” I asked.

  Hobart chuckled. “The founder of Zupthweld, who lived many, many years ago, was a great inventor. And this was his greatest invention. Observe.” With that, Hobart reached into his pocket and took out a stick of gum. He put the gum in his mouth but tossed the wrapper on the ground.

  There was an immediate flutter of wings. A pigeon dove on the trash and ate it. The bird just swallowed down the wrapper like it was a tasty treat. I watched, following the upward path as the bird flew out the hole that led to Topside.

  “You get rid of all your garbage that way?” I asked.

  Hobart grinned. “Indeed. It’s a perfect system—a triumph of biomechanical engineering. They process all our waste and dispose of it. Now stay right here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I waited while he dashed off. He returned with a long ladder. “Thanks for the tour,” I said. “It’s a nice town.” I climbed the ladder and squeezed through the hole, back to the filthy mess of the west side of the park.

  Right behind me, several pigeons fluttered out. They bombed the statue, adding to the layer on General Treron’s left shoulder, then dove back into the hole—obviously in search of more garbage. I thought about the clean streets of Zupthweld and where all their trash ended up.

  “Our turn,” I said, looking around for what I needed. I found a large rock, big enough to cover the hole but not so big that I couldn’t roll it.

  “Deal with your own mess,” I added after the rock dropped in place. As I walked away from General Treron, I bent down, picked up a candy-bar wrapper from the ground, and tossed it into a trash can. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  TIED UP

  It was the bottom of the ninety-seventh inning. We were down by one, 57 to 56. I was up next. Tying run on third, winning run on second. I watched as Kent swung too early at a changeup. Strike three. One out.

  “Come on, Tucker,” Coach Wagner called from his spot near first base.

  I looked at him for some kind of sign. Hit away for the win or sacrifice for the tie? I was pretty sure I could drive Lucas home from third. I might be able to hit a hard grounder and bring Miguel home, too. A win would be good. Wouldn’t it?

  As I settled down into my batting stance at the plate, I glanced at the scoreboard beyond the left-field fence. It stretched far into the distance. I could barely make out any innings below the thirties. The unplayed innings stretched off to the right.

  “Strike!”

  Dang. I had to focus. I couldn’t let my mind wander. I watched the next pitch come in high and outside. The one after that was also high.

  Come on, give me one I can taste. I knew he wouldn’t walk me. That would load the bases. Which also meant he wasn’t going to risk letting the count get to three and one. Sure enough, he fired a rocket at the upper inside corner of the zone. I halfway decided to swing for the fence, but caution won and I ended up hitting a hopper past first. I was thrown out, but the run scored.

  I looked at Coach Wagner. He nodded, but I couldn’t tell whether he was really pleased.

  “Good job,” Kent said when I got back to the bench.

  “Thanks.” I watched Ethan walk up to the plate. “Maybe I should have gone for the win. What do you think?”

  Kent shrugged.

  “Hot dogs! Get yer red hots!”

  I looked past the fence. A guy was walking by with a small pushcart. I loved hot dogs.

  “Here!” I called.

  He swung over. I had a couple bucks folded in my sneaker just for this. I traded them for a hot dog.

  At the plate, Ethan hit a pop-up. It barely cleared the infield. The shortstop caught it, and the other team came in off the field to start the next inning.

  “Come on,” Kent said.

  “I’ll be right there.” I gulped the hot dog in three bites. I hated to rush, but I couldn’t take it to the field with me. The last bite almost caught in my throat, but I managed to get it down without choking.

  “You are such a pig,” Kent said. He flashed me a grin. I didn’t mind if he kidded me.

  “You should talk.” I pointed to a ketchup splotch on his pants leg.

  He looked down and frowned, then headed over to right field. I noticed he had a couple ketchup stains on his back, too. I jogged out to third base. Top of the ninety-eighth. I’d had at least a couple shots at breaking the tie. But I’d played it safe every time. I guess we all had.

  They didn’t score any runs that inning. Neither did we. They scored twice in the ninety-ninth inning, but we managed to tie it up again.

  “This seems kind of special,” I told Kent as we headed into the field for the top of the one hundredth.

  “Huh?”

  “One hundred innings,” I said.

  He shrugged. “So?”

  “I don’t know.” I looked around the field. Something was tickling the back of my mind. But this was no time to let my attention wander. I focused on the game. They managed to get one man on but weren’t able to advance him. Thanks to a nice dive and throw, I made the third out.

  When I came up to bat, I got to first on a walk. I looked at the coach to see if he wanted me to steal.

  “Up to you,” he said.

  I stayed put. After two outs, I made it to third on a strong grounder. If I’d stolen second earlier, the game would be over now. The next batter struck out.

  Inning 101. I’d been sure something special would happen at 100.

  When we came in for our ups, I asked Kent, “This game seem strange to you?”

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  “What’s the longest you’ve ever gone with extra innings?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know. This time, I guess.”

  “I mean not counting this one.” I thought back. Games went ten or eleven innings. Maybe twelve. I wasn’t sure what the pro record was, but I was pretty sure it was a lot less than one hundred innings.

  “What’s the difference?” Kent asked. “I could play all day and be happy.”

  “Hot dogs!”

  The guy with the cart was heading toward us. Hot dogs. I always ate them too fast. Choked them down. That’s what my mom would say. Mom? I looked around again. The stands were empty. That was weird. My folks always came to my games.

  “There’s nobody in the stands,” I said.

  Kent shrugged again. I looked at his back. The red splotches had flowed from dark holes. Bullet wounds.

  I gasped. I guess I’d been holding my breath as I stared at Kent’s back. I forced myself to search behi
nd the wall that protected me from my memories. I’d grabbed a hot dog before the game. Not this game. Another game. I was up in my room, getting my uniform on. I bit off a hunk and gulped it down as I bent over to lace my cleats.

  And realized I couldn’t breathe. For an instant, I didn’t understand what was wrong. Then panic flooded my body. My parents were downstairs, but I couldn’t even make a sound. I tried to get out of the room. That’s the last thing I remember.

  I knew there was no use talking to Kent. He wasn’t ready to remember. Whatever had happened to him, I think it was a lot worse than what happened to me.

  But there was someone I could ask. I was leadoff batter in the 103rd inning. They hadn’t scored. I got on first, which was just where I wanted to be. I didn’t waste words. I might not be on base for long if Ethan got a hit.

  I looked over at Coach Wagner. “Am I dead?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not yet.”

  “So how do I get out of here?” I watched Ethan head for the batter’s box.

  Coach Wagner sighed. “I was hoping you could tell me.” I noticed that his neck was bent at a strange angle. Instead of a regular belt, he was wearing a seat belt.

  “We have to win or lose sooner or later. Right?”

  “I hope so.”

  I realized he didn’t know any more than I did. But I had to do something.

  Or did I? I loved playing ball. I could play forever. I checked my sock. I had a couple bucks there. I’d always have money for hot dogs. Endless summer.

  I glanced back at Coach Wagner. “I’m going to steal.”

  “It’s your call.”

  “Can you help me?” He might not know all the answers, but he was a coach.

  “Yeah. Take a lead.”

  I moved away from the base and looked back at him.

  “One more step,” he said. “Then wait for my signal.”

  He let the first two pitches go. He gave me the signal on the third. I shot toward second and beat the throw.

  Ethan dribbled a hit, and I made it to third. Marcus struck out. So did Seth. One more out, and my steal would become meaningless. We’d go into inning 104. And then 105, and eventually 1,000 and 10,000 and on and on.