Crazy Dangerous Read online

  My lips parted as I tried to think of an answer.

  But before I could, something even more frightening happened.

  I heard an engine roar and turned to see Jeff Winger’s red Camaro racing toward us.

  8

  A Revelation

  I knew right away this was a bad situation. Jeff and his friends were bullies, and Jennifer was a natural victim if ever there was one. She was small, weak, odd, confused, and all alone out here in the middle of nowhere. The minute Jeff set eyes on her there was going to be trouble. I was sure of it.

  I watched the chrome of the Camaro’s fender plowing up the hill toward us. Then I looked back at Jennifer. She hadn’t even turned at the sound of the car. She was still staring at me, still studying me, as if she expected to find something surprising hidden in my face.

  I had this instinct to tell her to run away while there was still time—before the car reached us. But I didn’t. I should have.

  The Camaro roared right toward us—so fast that I edged my bike out of the way to make sure I wouldn’t get flattened. But just before the car reached me, it stopped. The doors came open immediately. Jeff and Ed P. and Harry Mac got out and walked over to us.

  Only then did Jennifer turn to look at them. It was as if she had just noticed they’d arrived. I heard her take a little frightened breath. I saw her eyes go wide. She was afraid. I didn’t blame her. So was I.

  I tried to talk in a normal, relaxed tone of voice. “Hey, guys,” I said. “You heading up to the barn?” I guess I was hoping that if I pretended everything was all right, then somehow everything would be all right.

  But Jeff didn’t even answer me. He didn’t even look at me. He walked up and stood in front of us with his friends flanking him, Ed P. behind his left shoulder, Harry Mac behind his right. He looked at Jennifer. He grinned his weaselly grin.

  Jennifer quailed, afraid. She sort of pulled her arms close to herself as if she wanted to shrink away to nothing.

  Jeff kept looking down at her, but he spoke to me. He said, “Hey, punk, who’s your friend?”

  I had to lick my lips before I could answer. They were very dry. “You know Jennifer,” I said. “She’s Mark Sales’s sister.”

  Jeff gave a harsh bark of a laugh, right into Jennifer’s frightened face. “Yeah, I know Mark Sales’s sister, all right,” he said in a sneering tone. Then he said to her, “You’re the bug-head, aren’t you? Huh? Your brother’s smart. He’s a little too smart, in fact. But you—there’s something wrong with you, isn’t there? You’re a little bit . . .” He turned his finger in a circular motion around his temple to indicate “crazy.” “You got bugs in the brain, haven’t you?”

  I saw Jennifer’s eyes change. She might be weird, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew when she was being insulted. Her pale face went even paler, her expression blank with hurt and fear.

  “Bugs can be in a computer. A brain’s like a computer,” Jennifer said.

  Jeff laughed at that as if she had told a joke. And of course Ed P. and Harry Mac laughed along.

  “Bugs in a computer . . . ,” Jeff said.

  “Hey, look . . . ,” I started to say, hoping to distract him.

  But Jeff just ignored me. He went on talking to Jennifer. “The stuff you say, bug-girl,” he said. “Where do you come up with that crazy stuff?”

  “I buy it at the crazy store,” she answered him. Her tone was defiant, but her eyes were flicking around this way and that as if she was looking for a way to escape. Her lips were trembling in fear.

  For a second I saw a flash of anger in Jeff’s eyes. He didn’t like her smart-aleck answer. But a second later he laughed again and his pals laughed. “The crazy store,” Jeff said. “I’ll bet. I’ll bet that’s exactly right.”

  “Hey, Jennifer,” I said. Quickly I climbed off my bike and laid it down on the road. I stepped toward Jennifer, trying to maneuver myself between her and Jeff. “Maybe you ought to go home now,” I told her. “You know what I’m . . .”

  Jeff put his hand on my shoulder and moved me aside—not hard or anything—just sort of gently pushing me out of his way. He stepped even closer to Jennifer. There was no way for me to get between them now.

  “Oh, she doesn’t want to leave,” he said, not looking at me, only looking down at her. “The fun’s just getting started. Isn’t it, buggy?”

  “Listen, Jeff,” I said desperately. “You know Mark doesn’t like it when anyone . . .”

  He turned swiftly, like a snake turning. The words died in my throat. “You think I care what Mark doesn’t like?” he said.

  “No, I . . .”

  “You think I’m scared of Mark? I’m sick of Mark. Mark’s pushed me just as far as I’m gonna go.”

  “I’m just saying . . . Look,” I pleaded. “You know, she’s . . . It’s not right.”

  Jeff looked at me a long moment. It wasn’t a nice look. I thought he might be about to knock me around again. But instead he smiled that smile. “It’s not right? It’s not right? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, you know . . .”

  “No, I don’t. Why don’t you explain it to me, punk?”

  “I mean, well, Jennifer, she’s . . . You know. You shouldn’t . . . She’s . . .”

  “O-o-oh,” said Jeff, turning his smile back to Jennifer again. “I see what you mean. You mean she’s not right. She’s crazy, isn’t she? She’s got bugs in her brain. Don’t you, bug-girl?”

  And now Jeff made this crazy noise, this sort of high-pitched warbling sound—you know, to indicate that Jennifer was nuts: a way of making fun of her. Ed P. and Harry Mac laughed loudly. And Jeff kind of illustrated the crazy noise with his hands—waggling his fingers in Jennifer’s face. Jennifer just sort of stared at the fingers as if she was mesmerized by them.

  “Crazy, crazy, crazy,” Jeff said.

  And I said, “Hey, Jeff, listen . . .”

  Then—very suddenly, very fast—Jeff slapped her.

  It happened before I could do anything, before I could even think. Jeff was doing that thing with his hands, waggling his fingers in Jennifer’s face, and she was staring at his fingers, and then the next second he kind of rolled his hands over and over, the way a boxer does when he’s punching a bag. He rolled his hands over and hit Jennifer in the face with them four times really quickly, whack-whack-whack-whack, too fast for her to block them or get away.

  Jennifer stumbled back from the blows and covered herself, cowering in pain, trembling in terror.

  Ed P. and Harry Mac laughed and laughed, and Jeff laughed and called at her, “How was that, bug-head? That was pretty funny, huh? Was that crazy enough for you? Why don’t you take that to the crazy store?”

  Have you ever had a revelation? You know, like, one minute you don’t understand something and the next minute you do. Like maybe you’re playing a video game and you can’t figure out how you’re supposed to climb up on this ledge that’s out of reach and then all of a sudden the answer’s obvious; it just comes to you as if from out of nowhere.

  Well, that’s what happened to me then. When Jeff slapped Jennifer, I had a revelation.

  My revelation went like this: Do right. Fear nothing.

  Before, when I was riding my bike up the hill, worrying about what I was going to tell Jeff, that idea had seemed complicated. Difficult. Even impossible. How could you just stop being afraid? How could you just do what was right when the consequences might be really painful?

  Now, all of a sudden, in a bright brain flash, it came to me.

  I thought: Oh wait, I get it! Do right. Fear nothing. It’s as simple as that!

  Jeff and Harry Mac and Ed P. were still laughing, and Jeff was making noises again as Jennifer cringed in front of him, her face red from his slaps and stained with tears. I could see that Jeff was getting all excited by his own cruelty, that he was planning to hurt her again, to hurt her more.

  “Hey, Jeff!” I said.

  He turned to me, grinning. “What do
you want, punk?” he said.

  I thought: Do right. Fear nothing.

  And I slugged him.

  Hey, under the circumstances it was the only thing I could think of. And sure, I knew what was going to happen to me next. But I wasn’t afraid because . . . Well, because I understood the words on the angel statue. Do right. Fear nothing. It was just that easy.

  Anyway, I slugged Jeff in the face, and it was a good one too—a good, solid punch, not like before when we were up on the ridge. This one came up from my knee with my whole body turning into it. My knuckles smacked hard into Jeff’s cheek and sent him stumbling backward, his arms pin-wheeling, until he tripped and sat down hard on the ground.

  “Run, Jennifer!” I shouted. “Run now!”

  But she didn’t—not at first. At first she just backed slowly away, gaping at me in wild-eyed terror.

  “Run!” I shouted again.

  “I don’t want to leave-you-believe-you!” she cried out wildly.

  “Believe me, leave me!” I shouted back. If I was going to get beaten up, I didn’t want it to be for nothing.

  Before I could say anything else, Harry Mac grabbed hold of me from behind, wrapping his powerful arms around me in a bear hug. Without thinking, I forced my elbow back into his belly. His belly felt like it was made of steel, but I guess I hit him in a good spot because the blow made him grunt and his grip on me loosened. With the strength of crazy panic, I yanked myself free of him.

  “Run, Jennifer!” I shouted one more time.

  Finally—finally!—Jennifer ran; at least she tried to. But just as she started to turn away, Ed P. went after her. You wouldn’t have thought the lumbering thug could move so fast, but his arm snapped out like a whip and his big hand wrapped around her elbow.

  I leapt onto his back. I put a stranglehold on him with one arm while I pummeled him with my free fist.

  He lost his grip on Jennifer and she tore off into the woods. I caught a final glimpse of her, dodging through the trees at full speed, her coat spreading out around her like wings, her brown hair flying out behind her.

  I was still clinging to Ed P. and he was reeling around, trying to throw me off. And now Jeff was on his feet and he and Harry Mac came at me at once. Jeff grabbed me from one side and Harry Mac grabbed me from the other. They pulled me off Ed P.’s back, and as I fell away, Ed P. took a blind, furious swing with his fist that caught me like a hammer blow on the side of the head.

  I saw lights flash in front of my eyes. My knees went weak. Jeff and Harry Mac hurled me down hard onto the broken road.

  The impact of the fall knocked the wind out of me. For a moment all I could do was lie there on my back, dazed. I saw the three thugs standing over me, looking down at me. Blood was pouring out of Jeff’s nose from where I’d decked him. He wiped the thick stream away with his sweatshirt sleeve.

  Then he grinned down at me, his teeth bloodstained. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, punk. You are really going to get it now.”

  So that’s how I ended up just about dead, lying in a pool of blood by the side of the road.

  But that’s only the beginning of the story.

  PART TWO

  THE THING IN

  THE COFFIN

  JENNIFER HID IN HER ROOM, BUT SHE KNEW THEY WERE out there. The demon things, the shadow things. She could sense them, feel them, gathering on the other side of her closed door. She could hear them whispering, plotting together. She could feel them secretly changing the house so that no one could see the change but her.

  She lay on her bed, on her side, clutching her pillow over her head so she wouldn’t hear them. But she heard them anyway. Their whispers reached for her under the pillow like a skeleton’s fingers . . .

  Come out, Jennifer.

  Come out, come out.

  Come out and see.

  The whispers crept over her, crawled over her like bugs, skittering into her ears like bugs, into her brain like bugs.

  Come and see.

  That’s what the Winger creature had said. There were bugs in her brain, like bugs in a computer, whisper bugs sent by the devil because the devil wasn’t on the level.

  Come and see, Jennifer.

  Don’t try to hide.

  You can’t hide from us.

  The bug-whispers crawled into her brain and took hold of her like skeleton fingers and the finger-whispers pulled at her—they pulled and pulled at her mind.

  Come out, Jennifer.

  Come out, come out, wherever you are.

  Come and see how we changed everything.

  You’re the only one who can see it, Jennifer.

  Come and see.

  Under the pillow, Jennifer shook her head no no no. But she knew she couldn’t resist for long. She had to get up. She had to go. She had to see.

  Don’t try to hide, Jennifer.

  You can’t hide.

  We see you.

  We know where you are.

  She cried out and threw the pillow aside harshly, thinking, All right already! All right! She sat up angrily on the edge of the bed. All right!

  She heard the whispers of the shadow-things grow gleeful and excited. There were more of them now and they were more powerful. She didn’t want to start moving across the room but she couldn’t help it, and as she moved, the shadows whispered gleefully:

  Here she comes.

  She’s coming.

  The bug-head.

  She has bugs in her brain like bugs in a computer.

  Even as she shook her head no no no, she did what they told her to do, what they made her do. She moved to the bedroom door, her eyes darting here and there as she did. She saw the Disney princesses staring at her from the calendar and the singers staring at her from their posters and her stuffed crocodile and her baby giraffe and her teddy bear—all of them staring and staring at her with their black, black eyes. They were supposed to be her friends. They had always been her friends. But they had all changed now and become stary-scary like the stary-scary-stereo. She was all alone with the shadow things. She had no friends now.

  Yes, I do, she thought defiantly. Sam.

  Yes. The name soothed her, like a magical charm.

  Sam Hopkins.

  Sam was her friend. Sam didn’t stare. He wasn’t a bear. He didn’t care when her mind made her say the strange rhymey things. Magic Sam Hopkins. He hoppity-hopkined to help her like a magic Sam-kangaroo when Jeff Winger winged down on her like a Jeff-hawk and slapped her face mean mean mean.

  She was at the door now. The whispers grew stronger, louder, more insistent. Jennifer put her hands over her ears to block them out, but the whispers battered at her, threatening to break through, to crowd into her brain . . .

  Trying to fight them, she thought: Sam Hopkins. Sam Hopkins. Sam Hopkins. Thinking the friend-name three times to ignite its magic power. It worked—a little. When she slowly drew her hands from her ears, the whispers had faded.

  Friend, friend, friend, she thought.

  But even Sam’s magic name was not strong enough to keep the whispers at bay for long. They had pulled back only to gather strength. Then they swarmed at her again, overwhelming her.

  Come and see.

  Come and see how we changed everything.

  Now she knew there was no fighting the compulsion. The propulsion of the compulsion. She had to go. She had to see. She had to see what they had done to the house.

  “Oh, Sam,” she whimpered.

  Why didn’t he punch them like he punched the mean Winger boy?

  But there were too many. They were too strong. Even magic Sam couldn’t help her here.

  Jennifer knew what she had to do. She drew a deep breath for strength. She reached out with a trembling hand and pulled the bedroom door open wide.

  At once, the whispers stopped altogether. There was silence.

  And Jennifer stopped. And she stared.

  “Oh!” The sound came out of her on a long breath.

  It was true. They had changed everything. With
their skeleton fingers. They had stripped away the yellow paisley of the hallway wallpaper, leaving only the rough, splintery, unpainted wood beneath. They had scrawled their obscene whispers on the splintery wintery walls in blood-red paint, and they had slashed and splashed and dashed their weird symbols and their hateful, violent scenes everywhere around her.

  “Sam-Hopkins-Sam-Hopkins-Sam-Hopkins,” Jennifer whispered frantically very fast because she was so-scared-so-scared-so-scared.

  She thought of running for Mark. Her brother. Her hero. Oh hear-oh Mark!

  But no. She couldn’t get to the end of the hall where Mark was. A tree blocked the way, a tree spreading its broad branches from the hallway wall to the landing banister and beyond, spreading its branches over a flat dark lake. The flat dark lake was wide and black and deep and threatening. That blocked her way as well.

  And then there was the coffin.

  The coffin sat right in the middle of the hall. Right there in front of her. There was no lid on it. It was open.

  Jennifer didn’t like the coffin. It scared her more than anything. She didn’t want to go near it. She didn’t want to look down into it and see what was inside.

  But she had to. The whispers wouldn’t let her alone. The whispers crawled into her brain like bugs and took hold of her with their skeleton fingers, drawing her on against her own will.

  “Sam Hopkins . . .”

  Even the magic friend-name couldn’t make it stop. She had to go. She had to see. Step-by-step-by-step. Down the hall to where the coffin stood. Until she was standing over it, looking down. Down and down into the dark of the coffin, the dark that went down and down.

  And then she saw. She didn’t want to, but she did.

  The thing inside the box had once been human, but it wasn’t human now. It was dead and rotten now, a skeleton crawling with whisper bugs.

  We are death, the bugs whispered out of the skeleton’s mouth.

  We are angels of death.

  We will destroy them.

  Destroy them all.

  Jennifer stared down at it, whispering back, “Sam Hopkins,” over and over as fast as she could.