35 - A Shocker on Shock Street (6 page)

To my surprise, he was leaning against the cave wall, one elbow against the
rock, his legs crossed. A big grin on his round face.

“April Fools,” he said.

“YAAAIIIII!” I let out an angry scream. Then I dropped the two plastic
pistols and rushed at him, ready to pound him with my fists. “You jerk! You
scared me to death!”

He laughed and dodged to the side as I came at him. I swung my fist and hit
air.

“Don’t play any more dumb jokes like that!” I cried breathlessly. “This place
is too scary! Those big insects—”

“Yeah. They were scary,” he agreed, his smile fading. “They were so real! How
do you think they made them spit like that?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I muttered.

I had a heavy feeling in my stomach. I knew it was a crazy idea. But I was
beginning to think these creatures we were seeing
were
real.

Maybe I’ve seen too many scary movies. But the big praying mantises and the
white worms and all the other creatures and monsters really seemed to be alive.

They didn’t move like mechanical creatures. They appeared to breathe. And
their eyes focused on Marty and me as if they could really see us.

I wanted to tell Marty what I was thinking. But I knew he would only laugh at
me.

He was so sure that they were all robots and that we were seeing some awesome
movie special effects. Of course, that made sense. We were on a movie studio
tour, after all.

I hoped Marty was right. I hoped it was all tricks. Movie magic.

My dad was a genius when it came to designing mechanical creatures and
building theme park rides. And maybe that’s all we were seeing. Maybe Dad had
really outdone himself this time.

But the heavy feeling in my stomach wouldn’t go away. I had the feeling that
we were in danger. Real danger.

I had the feeling that something had gone wrong here. That something was out
of control.

I suddenly wished we weren’t the first two kids to try out the tour. I knew it was supposed to be a thrill to be the only
ones here. But it was too quiet. Too empty. Too scary. It would be so much more
fun if hundreds of other people were along with us.

I wanted to tell Marty all this. But how could I?

He was so eager to prove that he was braver than me. So eager to prove that
he wasn’t afraid of anything.

I couldn’t tell him what I was really thinking.

I picked up the two plastic stun guns and handed him one. I didn’t want to
carry them both.

He tucked the barrel of his gun into his jeans pocket. “Hey, Erin—look
where we are!” he cried. He jogged past me, his eyes straight ahead. “Check it
out!”

He started running across the grass. I turned and started to follow him. I
didn’t want him to get too far ahead.

The sky had darkened. The sun had disappeared behind a heavy blanket of
clouds. Wisps of gray fog hung low in the cool air. It was nearly evening.

We crossed the road and stepped into a town. I mean, it was a movie set of a
town. A small town with low, one- and two-story buildings, small shops, a
country-looking general store. Big, old houses in the block beyond the stores.

“Do you think this is a set they really use in the movies?” I asked, hurrying
to catch up to Marty.

He turned to me, his dark eyes flashing with excitement. “Don’t you recognize
it? Don’t you know where you are?”

And then my eyes fell on the crumbling, old mansion half-hidden by the
twisted trees. And across from it, I saw the crooked picket fence that ran
around the old cemetery.

And I knew we were on Shock Street.

“Wow!” I exclaimed, spinning around, trying to take it all in at once. “This
really is Shock Street. This is where they filmed all of the movies!”

“It doesn’t look the way I imagined it,” Marty said. “It looks even scarier!”

He was right. As the sky darkened to evening, long shadows fell over the
empty buildings. The wind made a moaning sound as it swept around the corner.

Marty and I made our way down the street, trying to see
everything.
We
kept crossing from side to side, peering into a dark, dust-covered shop window—then running to examine the front yard of a rundown, old mansion.

“Check out that empty lot,” I said, pointing. “That’s where The Mad Mangler
hung out. Remember? In
Shocker III?
Remember—he mangled everyone who
walked by?”

“Of course I remember,” Marty snapped. He stepped into the empty lot. Tall
weeds bent low, blown by the moaning wind. Shadows moved against the fence at
the back.

I stayed on the sidewalk and squinted hard, trying to see what cast the
shadows.

Did The Mad Mangler still lurk back there?

The lot was totally empty. So how could there be tall, shifting shadows on
the fence?

“Marty—come back,” I pleaded. “It’s getting dark.”

He turned back. “Scared, Erin?”

“It’s just an empty lot,” I told him. “Let’s keep walking.”

“People
always
thought it was just an empty lot,” Marty replied in a
low, scary voice. “Until The Mad Mangler jumped out and mangled them!” He let
out a long, evil laugh.

“Marty—you’re losing it,” I murmured, shaking my head.

He came trotting out of the lot, and we crossed the street. “I wish I had a
camera,” he said. “I’d really like a picture of me standing in The Mangler’s
lot.” His eyes lit up. “Or even better—!”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he took off, running full speed.

“Hey—wait up!” I cried.

A few seconds later, I saw where he was headed. The old cemetery.

He ran up to the cracked and peeling wooden gate and turned back to me. “Even better, I’d like a photo of me standing in
the cemetery. The actual set where they filmed
Cemetery on Shock Street
.”

“We don’t have a camera,” I called from the street. “Get away from there.”

He ignored me and started to open the gate. The bottom was stuck in the
grass. Marty tugged hard. Finally, the gate started to pull open, creaking and
groaning as it moved.

“Marty—let’s go,” I insisted. “It’s getting late. Dad is probably waiting
for us, wondering what happened to us.”

“But this is part of the tour!” he insisted. He tugged the heavy gate open
just wide enough to squeeze inside the cemetery.

“Marty—please! Don’t go in!” I begged. I ran up beside him.

“Erin, it’s just a movie set,” he replied. “You didn’t used to be such a
total wimp!”

“I—I just have a bad feeling about this cemetery,” I stammered. “A very bad
feeling.”

“It’s part of the tour,” he repeated.

“But this gate was
closed
!” I cried. “It was closed so that people
don’t go in.” I raised my eyes to the cemetery. I saw the old graves tilting up
from the ground like crooked teeth. “I have such a bad feeling…”

Marty ignored me. He tugged the gate open a little wider and slipped into the
cemetery.

“Marty—please—!” I gripped the low fence tightly with both hands and
watched him.

He took three steps toward the old graves. Then his hands shot straight up in
the air—and he dropped out of sight.

I stared into the darkness, blinking hard.

I swallowed. Once. Twice.

I couldn’t believe that he was gone, that he had vanished so quickly.

The wind moaned between the jagged, tilting gravestones.

“Marty—?” My voice came out in a choked whisper. “Marty?”

I gripped the picket fence so hard, my hands ached. I knew I had no choice. I
had to go in there and see what had happened to him.

I took a deep breath and pushed myself through the opening. The ground was
soft. My sneakers sank into the tall grass.

I took one step.

Then another.

I stopped when I heard Marty’s voice. “Hey—be careful.”

“Huh?” I gazed around. “Where are you?”

“Down here.”

I peered down—into a deep, dark hole. An open grave. Marty stared up at me.
He had dirt on his cheeks and down the front of his T-shirt. He raised both
hands. “Help me out. I fell!”

I had to laugh. He looked ridiculous, standing in that hole, covered in dirt.

“It’s not funny. Help me out,” he repeated impatiently.

“I warned you,” I said. “I had a bad feeling.”

“It smells down here,” Marty complained.

I leaned down. “What does it smell like?”

“Like dirt. Get me out!”

“Okay, okay.” I grabbed his hands and tugged. He kicked his feet, digging his
toes of his sneakers into the soft dirt.

A few seconds later, he was back on the ground, frantically brushing himself
off. “That was cool!” he declared. “Now I can tell people I was in a grave in
The Shock Street Cemetery.”

A chill ran down my back as the wind picked up. “Let’s get out of here,” I
pleaded.

Something gray floated silently between two old gravestones. A wisp of fog? A
gray cat?

“Check out these graves,” Marty said, still brushing dirt off his jeans.
“They’re all cracked and faded. I can barely read the names. That’s so cool. And
look how they sprayed cobwebs over that row of stones. Creepy, huh?”

“Marty—can we go?” I begged again. “Dad is probably worried by now. Maybe the tram started up again. Maybe we can find
it.”

He ignored me. I watched him lean over a tombstone to read the words cut into
it. “Jim Socks,” he read. “Eighteen forty to eighteen eighty-seven.” He laughed.
“Jim Socks. Get it? And look at the ones next to it. Ben Dover. Sid Upp. These
are all funny!”

I laughed. Ben Dover and Sid Upp were pretty funny.

My laugh was cut short when I heard a soft cry from the back of the
graveyard. I saw another gray wisp dart behind a tombstone.

I held my breath and listened hard. The wind whistled through the tall grass.

Rising above the wind came another shrill cry.

A cat? I wondered. Is the cemetery filled with cats? Or is it a child?

Marty heard it, too. He moved down the row of stones until he stood beside
me. His dark eyes glowed excitedly. “This is so cool. Did you hear the sound
effects? There must be a speaker hidden in the ground.”

Another shrill cry.

Definitely human. A girl?

I shivered. “Marty, I really think we should try to get back to my dad. We’ve
been here all afternoon. And—”

“But what about the rest of the tour?” he argued. “We have to see
everything!”

I heard another cry. Louder. Closer. A cry of terror.

I tried to ignore it. Marty was probably right. The cries had to be coming
from a loudspeaker somewhere.

“How can we finish the tour?” I demanded. “We were supposed to stay on the
tram—remember? But the tram—OHH!”

I cried out as a hand shot up from the ground in front of us. A green hand.
Its long fingers unfolded, as if reaching for us.

“Whoa!” Marty cried, stumbling back.

Another green hand shot up from the dirt. Then two more.

Hands reaching up from graves.

I let out a frightened gasp. Hands were bursting up through the grass. Hands
all around us. Their fingers twisting and arching, reaching out.

Marty started to laugh. “This is totally awesome! Just like in the movie!”

He stopped laughing as a hand poked up beside him and grabbed his ankle.
“Erin—help!” he cried.

But I couldn’t help.

Two green hands had wrapped around my ankles and were pulling me down, down
into the grave.

“Come dowwwwwnnnnn,”
a soft voice moaned.
“Come dowwwwwnnnn with us.”

“Nooo!” I shrieked.

My arms thrashed the air. I tried to kick, but the hands gripped me so
tightly, so firmly.

My whole body frantically jerked and tilted back and forth, as I struggled
not to fall. If I fell, I knew they would grab my hands, too. And pull me
facedown into the earth.

“Come dowwwwwwwnnnnnnn. Come dowwwwwnnnn with us.”

This isn’t a joke, I thought. These hands are
real.
They are really
trying to pull me underground.

“Help! Oh, help!” I heard Marty’s cry. Then I saw him fall. He toppled to the
grass, onto his knees.

Two hands gripped his ankles. Two more green hands poked up from the dirt to
grab his wrists.

“Come dowwwwwwwnnnnnnn. Come dowwwwwnnnn with us,”
the sad voice moaned.

“Noooo!” I shrieked, tugging wildly, desperately.

To my surprise, I pulled free.

One foot sank into the soft grass. I glanced down. My sneaker had slid off.
The hand still gripped the sneaker—but my foot was free.

With a happy cry, I bent down. Pulled off the other sneaker.

I was free now. Free!

Breathing hard, I bent and quickly pulled off my socks. I knew it would be
easier to run barefoot. I tossed the socks away. Then I hurried over to Marty.

He was flat on his stomach. Six hands held him down, tugging at him, tugging
hard. His whole body twisted and shook.

He raised his head when he saw me. “Erin—help me!” he gasped.

I dropped to my knees. Reached for his sneakers. Tugged them off.

The green hands gripped the sneakers tightly. Marty kicked his feet free and
tried to climb to his knees.

I grabbed a green hand and pulled if off his wrist. The hand slapped at me. A
cold, hard slap that made my hand ring with pain.

Ignoring it, I grabbed for another green hand.

Marty rolled over. Rolled free. Jumped to his feet, gasping, trembling, his mouth hanging open, his dark eyes bulging.

“Your socks—” I cried breathlessly. “Pull them off! Hurry!”

He clumsily tore them off his feet.

The hands grabbed wildly for us. Dozens of hands stretching up from the dirt.
Hundreds of hands reaching up for us from the tall graveyard grass.

“Come dowwwwwwwnnnnnnn. Come dowwwwwnnnn with us,”
the voice moaned.