35 - A Shocker on Shock Street (8 page)

Preparing to pounce.

Marty dragged me to my feet. “Run!” he cried hoarsely, his eyes wide with
panic.

The werewolves growled above us.

The ground tilted. I still felt dizzy, a little dazed from my fall. “We—we
can’t outrun them!” I moaned.

I heard a rumbling sound. A clatter.

Marty and I both turned. And saw two yellow eyes, glowing against the dark
sky.

Yellow eyes of a creature roaring toward us.

No. Not a creature.

As it drew nearer, I could make out its long, sleek shape.

The tram!

The tram bouncing over the road behind yellow headlights. Coming closer.
Closer.

Yes!

I turned to Marty. Did he see it, too? He did.

Without saying a word, we both began running to the road. The tram was
rolling fast. Somehow we had to climb on it. We
had
to!

Behind us, I heard the werewolves howl. I heard a hard
thump,
then
another as they dropped off the wall.

The twin yellow headlights of the tram swept over us.

The werewolves snarled and howled angrily as they chased after us.

A few feet ahead of me, Marty was hurtling forward, his head down, his legs
pumping furiously.

The tram bumped closer. Closer.

The howling werewolves were inches behind us. I could almost feel their hot
breath on the back of my neck.

A few more seconds. A few more seconds—and Marty and I would make our jump.

I watched the tram speed around a curve, the yellow headlights washing over
the dark road. I kept my eyes on the front car. Took a deep breath. Prepared to
jump.

And then Marty fell.

I saw his hands shoot out. Saw his mouth open wide in surprise. In horror.

He stumbled over his own bare feet and dropped to the ground, landing hard on
his stomach.

I couldn’t stop in time.

I ran right into him. Stumbled over him.

Fell heavily on top of him.

And watched the tram speed past us.

“Owoooooooo!”

The two werewolves uttered long howls of triumph.

My heart pounding, I scrambled to my feet. “Get up!” I frantically pulled
Marty up by both arms.

We took off after the tram, our bare feet pounding the hard road. The last
car bounced a few feet ahead of us.

I reached it first. Shot out my right hand. Grabbed the back of the car.

With a desperate leap, I hoisted myself up. Up. And into the last seat.

Struggling to catch my breath, I turned back to find Marty running behind the
tram. His hands reached for the back of the tramcar. “I—I can’t make it!” he
gasped.

“Run! You’ve
got
to!” I screamed.

Behind him, I could see the werewolves scampering close behind.

Marty put on a burst of speed. He grabbed the back of the car with both
hands. It dragged him for several feet—until he swung himself around and
dropped into the seat beside me.

Yes! I thought happily. We made it! We got away from those howling
werewolves.

Or did we?

Would they jump into the tram after us?

I spun around, my whole body trembling. And I watched the werewolves fade
into the distance. They ran for a while, then gave up. They both stood in the
road, hunched over in defeat, watching us escape.

Escape.

What a wonderful word.

Marty and I grinned at each other. I slapped him a high five.

We were both breathing hard, covered in mud. My legs ached from running. My
bare feet throbbed. My heart still thudded from the frightening chase.

But we had escaped. And now we were safe in the tram, on our way back to the
starting platform. Back to my dad.

“We’ve got to tell your dad that this place is messed up,” Marty said
breathlessly.

“Something is horribly wrong here,” I agreed.

“Those werewolves—they weren’t kidding around,” Marty continued. “They—they were real, Erin. They weren’t actors.”

I nodded. I felt so glad that Marty finally agreed with me. And he wasn’t
pretending to be brave anymore. He wasn’t pretending that it was all robots and
special effects.

We both knew that we had faced
real
dangers.
Real
monsters.

Something was terribly wrong at Shocker Studios. Dad had told us he wanted a
full report. Well, he was going to get one!

I settled back in the seat, trying to calm down.

But I shot straight up again when I realized we weren’t alone. “Marty—look!” I pointed to the front of the tram. “We aren’t the only passengers.”

In fact, every tramcar appeared to be filled with people.

“What’s going on?” Marty murmured. “Your dad said we were the only ones on
the tour. And now the tram is—OH!—”

Marty never finished his sentence. His mouth fell open in a gasp. His eyes
bulged open wide.

I gasped, too.

The other passengers on the tram all turned around at the same time. And I
saw their grinning jaws, their dark, empty eye sockets, the gray bones of their
skulls.

Skeletons.

The other passengers were all grinning skeletons.

Their jaws opened in dry laughter. Cruel laughter that sounded like the wind screeching through bare trees. Bones rattled
and clattered as they raised their yellowed, skeletal hands to point at us.

Their skulls bobbed and bounced as the tram carried us, faster, faster,
through the darkness.

Marty and I slumped low in the seat, trembling, staring at the grinning
skulls, the pointing fingers.

Who
were
they?

How did they get on this tram?

Where were they taking us?

The skeletons laughed their wheezing laugh. Their bones clanked and rattled.
Their yellowed skulls bounced loosely on their clattering shoulder bones.

The tram picked up speed. We were flying through the darkness.

I forced myself to turn away from the grinning skulls and peered out. Beyond
the trees, I could see the low buildings of the movie studio. As I stared, they
grew smaller, faded into the blackness of the night.

“Marty—we’re not going back to the main platform,” I whispered. “We’re
heading the wrong way. We’re going
away
from all the buildings.”

He swallowed hard. I could see the panic in his eyes. “What can we do?” he
choked out.

“We’ve got to get off!” I replied. “We’ve got to jump.”

Marty had slumped all the way down in the seat, as low as he could get. I think he was trying to hide from the skeletons.

Now he raised his head and peeked over the side of the tram. “Erin—we can’t
jump!” he cried. “We’re going too fast.”

He was right.

We were rocketing along the road. And the tram kept picking up speed. The
trees and shrubs whirred past in a dark blur.

And then as we squealed into a sharp curve, a tall building seemed to jump
into our path.

A castle, bathed in swirling spotlights. All gray and silver. Twin towers
reached up to the sky. A solid stone wall rose up from the road.

The road.

It curved straight into the castle wall. The road ended at the wall.

And we were roaring down the road, still picking up speed.

Roaring toward the castle.

The skeletons rattled and clattered and laughed their dry, screeching laugh.
They bounced in their seats, bones cracking, jumping in excitement as we zoomed
at the castle.

Closer. Closer.

Right up to it now. Up to the solid stone wall.

About to smash right into it.

My legs trembled. My heart pounded. But somehow I managed to stand up on the
seat.

I took a deep breath. Held it. Closed my eyes—and jumped.

I landed hard on my side, and rolled.

I saw Marty hesitate. The tram bounced. Marty dove over the side.

He hit the ground on his stomach. Rolled onto his back. And kept rolling.

I came to a stop under a tree. And turned to the castle—in time to see the
tram plunge into the stone wall.

Without a sound.

The first tramcar hit the castle wall and flew through it.

Silently.

I could see the skeletons bobbing and bouncing.

And I saw the next car and the next and the next—all shoot into the castle
wall and disappear through it without making a sound.

A few seconds later, the tram disappeared.

A heavy silence fell over the road.

The spotlights on the castle wall dimmed.

“Erin—are you okay?” Marty called weakly.

I turned to find him on his hands and knees on the other side of the road. I
scrambled to my feet. I had scraped my side, but it didn’t hurt too badly.

“I’m okay,” I told him. I pointed to the castle. “Did you see that?”

“I saw it,” Marty replied, standing up slowly. “But I don’t believe it.” He
stretched. “How did the tram go through the wall? Do you think the castle isn’t
really there? That it’s an optical illusion? Some kind of trick?”

“There’s an easy way to find out,” I said.

We walked side by side on the road. The wind rustled the trees, making them
whisper all around us. The pavement felt cold under my bare feet.

“We’ve got to find my dad,” I said quietly. “I’m sure he can explain
everything to us.”

“I hope so,” Marty murmured.

We stepped up to the castle wall. I stuck out both hands, expecting them to
go right through.

But my hands slapped solid stone.

Marty lowered his shoulder and shoved it against the castle wall. His
shoulder hit the wall with a
thud.

“It’s solid,” Marty said, shaking his head. “It’s a real wall. So how did the
tram go through it?”

“It’s a ghost tram,” I whispered, rubbing my hand against the cold stone. “A ghost tram filled with skeletons.”

“But we
rode
in it!” Marty cried.

I slapped the wall with both hands and spun away from it. “I’m sick of
mysteries!” I wailed. “I’m sick of being scared! I’m sick of werewolves and
monsters! I’m never going to another scary movie as long as I live!”

“Your father can explain it all,” Marty said softly, shaking his head. “I’m
sure he can.”

“I don’t want him to explain it!” I cried. “I just want to get
away
from here!”

Keeping close together, we made our way around to the side of the castle. I
could hear strange, animal howls behind us. And a frightening cackle cut through
the air somewhere above our heads.

I ignored all the sounds. I didn’t want to think about whether they were
being made by real monsters or fakes. I didn’t want to think about the
frightening creatures we had run into—or the close calls Marty and I had had.

I didn’t want to think.

At the back of the castle, the road appeared again. “I hope we’re going in
the right direction,” I murmured, following it as it curved into the hill.

“Me, too,” Marty replied in a tiny voice.

We picked up our pace, walking quickly in the middle of the road. We tried
not to pay attention to the sharp animal calls, the shrill cries, the howls and moans that seemed to follow us everywhere.

The road sloped uphill. Marty and I leaned forward as we climbed. The
frightening cries and howls followed us up the hill.

As we neared the top, I saw several low buildings.

“Yes!” I cried. “Marty—look! We must be heading back to the main platform.”
I started jogging toward the buildings. Marty trotted close behind.

We both stopped when we realized where we were.

Back on Shock Street.

Somehow we had made a circle.

Past the old houses and small shops, The Shock Street Cemetery came into
view. Staring at the fence, I remembered the green hands poking up from the
ground. The green shoulders. The green faces. The hands pulling us, pulling us
down.

My whole body shuddered.

I didn’t want to be back here. I never wanted to see this terrifying street
again.

But I couldn’t turn away from the cemetery. As I stared at the old
gravestones from across the street, I saw something move.

A wisp of gray. Like a tiny cloud.

It rose up between two crooked, old stones. Floated silently into the air.

And then another puff of gray lifted off the ground. And another.

I glimpsed Marty. He stood beside me, hands pressed against his waist,
staring hard. He saw them, too.

The gray puffs rose silently, like snowballs or cotton. Dozens of them,
floating up from the graves.

Floating over the cemetery and out over the street.

Floating above Marty and me. Hovering so low.

And then as we stared up at them, they started to grow. To inflate, like gray
balloons.

And I saw faces inside them. Dark faces, etched in shadow like the Man in the
Moon. The faces scowled at us. Old faces, lined and creased. Eyes narrowed to
dark slits. Frowning faces. Sneering faces inside the billowing, white puffs.

I grabbed Marty’s shoulder. I wanted to run, to get away, to get out from
under them.

But, like smoke, the wisps of mist with their evil faces, swirled down,
swirled around us. Trapped us. Trapped us inside.

The faces, the ugly, scowling faces, spinning around us. Spinning faster,
faster, holding us in the swirling, choking mist.

I pressed my hands over my eyes, trying to shut them out.

I froze in total panic. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe.

I could hear the shrill rush of wind as the ghostly clouds swirled around us.

And then I heard a man’s voice, shouting over the wind: “Cut! Print that one!
Good scene, everyone!”

I lowered my hands slowly and opened my eyes. I let out my breath in a long
whoosh.

A man came striding up to Marty and me. He wore jeans and a gray sweatshirt
under a brown leather jacket. He had a blue-and-white Dodgers cap sideways on
his head. A blond ponytail tumbled out from under it.