Strikeout of the Bleacher Weenies (15 page)

Farley's chair tipped forward. Farley slid off. But he didn't land on the floor. I could see just enough of the floor past the desk to know he'd dropped into some sort of hole. I realized there was a trapdoor in the floor of the principal's office.

I gasped. I guess I was sort of loud, because Principal Verger turned toward the window. I ducked down, then crawled away.

Man. Talk about mixed feelings. I was glad he was getting rid of bullies. But I wasn't sure I liked the way he did it. My feelings didn't stay mixed for long. A week later, when Mike Thamswacker started picking on me, I decided I was totally in favor of Principal Verger's approach to bullying.

Mike was a freak of nature. He was short, but he was frighteningly strong. I'd seen him rip a textbook in half like it was a napkin. And he was the sort of bully who liked to specialize. He'd pick on one person, and torment him until he broke. Somehow, I had become Mike's victim of choice. I guess he'd broken whoever was unlucky enough to have been his previous victim. The school was large enough that I didn't have any idea who it had been.

Now that I was his target, Mike poured motor oil into my locker, stole my pants during gym class and left them in a toilet, poked me in the ribs every chance he got, and put glue on my bicycle seat.

I had to get rid of him. And I knew the perfect way. Principal Verger always walked from his office to the cafeteria at the start of the first lunch period, so he could keep an eye on the kids in the hall. I knew his route. I checked Mike's route. He would be passing right by the corner near room 107 about six seconds before the principal.

I tested this for a whole week. Mike always got there just ahead of the principal. Meanwhile, the torment was getting unbearable. I knew I had to try my plan. The worst that would happen would be that I'd get smacked around. But if things went the way I hoped, Mike would be gone forever.

When the bell rang for lunch period, I ran to room 105, which was empty, and waited inside. When Mike went past, walking toward the corner by room 107, I rushed out and ran right into him from behind. As I bumped him, I saw principal Verger coming the other way.

Perfect.

Except Mike didn't spin around and start tossing out bully threats. He tumbled forward and hit the ground.

“Oowwwww!” He let out a loud cry. Then he rolled over and looked up at me. “Don't hit me again!” he screamed. He put his hands out, as if to hold me off.

“But…” Anyone could see he was faking.

A hand clamped down on my shoulder.

“Come with me,” Principal Verger said.

“I didn't do anything!” I shouted.

The principal didn't say a word. As he dragged me off, I glanced back. Mike was laughing.

“He's the bully,” I said. “You should take Mike to the office.”

The principal still ignored me.

“He's been torturing me for weeks.” I kept talking, but it was no use. The principal dragged me into his office and tossed me onto the chair that faced his desk.

I popped right out.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to the chair.

I looked at the floor in front of the chair. If you didn't know it was there, you'd never spot the outline of the trapdoor. But it was definitely there. “I'd rather stand.” I stepped behind the chair.

“Have it your way,” he said as he sat at his desk.

“It was an accident,” I said. “I was late for class, so I was running.”

“I hate bullies,” he said.

“I'm not a bully.”

“But you know what I hate worse than bullies?” he asked.

I gripped the edge of the chair. “What?”

“Spies,” he said. “Sneaky, meddling, prying spies who stick their noses in other people's business.” He reached under his desk and pressed something.

The floor behind the chair dropped from beneath my feet. I guess there was a second trapdoor. I lost my grip on the chair and plunged through the opening. It was a long drop, and it ended with a bad landing. I looked up at the square of light high above my head. Principal Verger stood at the edge of the opening.

“You can't leave me here to die!” I shouted.

“I'm not,” he said. “There's food and water. There's just no escape.”

Then he moved away, and the trapdoor closed.

My relief that I could somehow survive and maybe find a way out, despite what he'd said, was replaced an instant later by the thought that if I could survive, so could all the others. All the real bullies.

That's when I heard footsteps coming at me from all directions, and realized that, as bad as things seemed right now, they were about to become a whole lot worse.

 

FWOSTY

“
That's a heavy head,
” I said. I gripped it on both sides, and tried to lift it of off the ground. I could barely raise it at all.

“Maybe we should just leave it where it is,” my friend Bobby said. “It looks pretty cool, lying there all decapitated.”

“Nope. We have to get it up where it belongs,” I said. “We put a lot of work into this. We need to finish it.”

“You're right, Norm.” Jill, Bobby's cousin, stepped next to me and grabbed the head. “On three,” she said.

She counted, we lifted, and we managed to get the head in place. It sunk in slightly on the upper body. Good. It would stay in place. I stepped back to admire the results of our efforts.

The timing was perfect.

“Fwosty!” my little brother Ian shouted, pointing at the snowman. He came running over from the path that led down to the lake from the cabins.

“Yeah, Frosty,” I said. All week, Ian had been bugging me to make a snowman. I hadn't meant to keep him waiting, but there hadn't been any good, fresh snow until last night, when a foot and a half or so had fallen. It was perfect snow for making a snowman—not too light, not too wet. And I was happy to do something for Ian. He could be a pest, but he was basically okay for a little brother. The pest part mostly happened because he was a huge fan of the whole Frosty thing, about the snowman that comes to life. He watched the video nearly every day, even in the summer, and he sang the song in the car all the way to the lake last week. We come up here every year, during winter break, to ice skate, ski, and ride snowmobiles.

“Make it Fwosty!” Ian shouted. “I got stuff.” He ran back to our cabin.

“Fwosty?” Bobby asked.

“From that old video,” I said. “You know, the one where the snowman magically comes to life.”

“I love that movie,” Jill said.

“It would have been better with flame throwers,” Bobby said.

I had to agree. “Or zombies,” I said. “Reanimated snowmen.”

“You can't reanimate something that was never alive,” Bobby said.

I couldn't argue with that.

“Scoff!” Ian yelled as he skittered and slid back down the path. A scarf trailed from his raised hand like a poorly designed kite on a dead-calm day.

I grabbed Ian by the waist and lifted him up, so he could wrap the scarf around Fwosty's neck.

We didn't have coal, so I hunted around for stones under the snow. I didn't find any.

“I got this covered,” Bobby said. He went to his cabin and came back with a small sack. He pulled out some Oreos, which we used for buttons and broke into pieces to make teeth for a smiling mouth.

“You didn't bring enough for the eyes,” I said.

“No problem.” He reached back into the sack and extracted two blue tortilla chips that made sort of spooky triangular eyes, like on a jack-o-lantern.

Jill brought a carrot. Her folks were big on salads. Bobby took it and jammed it pointed-end-first into the snowman's face.

“Wrong way,” Jill said.

“I like it better,” Bobby said. “Speaking of which…” He redid some of the cookies, turning the smile into a frown. I glanced over at Ian to make sure he wasn't spooked by the creepy face. He seemed fine with it.

I broke a couple branches off a dead tree that had fallen by the lake, and jammed them into the top of the middle snow boulder for arms.

“Perfect,” I said.

“No,” Ian said. “He needs the hat.”

“We don't have a top hat,” I said. “That's what he wears in the movie.”

Ian let out a cackle like he knew the greatest joke in the world, and ran to the cabin again.

“Your brother scares me sometimes,” Bobby said.

“I think there's some alien DNA way back in my family tree,” I said.

Ian returned, carrying a paper bag that seemed way too small to hold a hat. He reached in and pulled out a black disc of some sort.

“Good golly,” Jill said. “I think it's a top hat. The old ones collapsed.”

“Yeah. I saw that in a movie,” Bobby said.

Ian smacked the brim against his open hand a couple times, but he wasn't strong enough to make the hat pop open.

“I'll do it.” As I reached out, I asked, “Where'd you get it?”

“From Mr. Lorimar,” Ian said, handing me the hat.

I froze. Mr. Lorimar lived two houses down from us. He owned a funeral home. He also owned a used clothing store. All us kids had creepy theories about that.
Chill,
I told myself as I took the hat. I smiled as I realized how appropriate the suggestion was, given the current temperature.

I popped open the hat on my first try. It smelled like the air in the old barbershop my grandfather goes to.

I had to stand on my toes to put the hat on. I still couldn't quite reach.

“I got it,” Bobby said. He pushed me aside, then put the hat on Fwosty's head.

I realized Ian was about to get very disappointed. According to the song, it was the hat that made the snowman come to life. I turned toward him and prepared some comforting big-brother words about the difference between fantasy and reality.

“It worked!” Ian shouted. “He comed to life!”

I looked to where Ian pointed, and every organ in my body contracted in an involuntary reaction to stuff that should never happen. Fwosty moved. He turned his head.

I was startled for an instant. But as my organs began to unclench I realized the head was probably just slipping a bit. That realization was shattered as Fwosty swung one of his heavy wooden arms, smacking Bobby across the chest with a whack so loud it made me wince. Bobby went flying at least ten feet.

I screamed and backed up. I could see Bobby was hurt. Fwosty moved closer to him and raised a branch like he was going to impale Bobby right through the heart.

“No!” I shouted. I tackled him.

Sort of.

Not really.

It was more like I nudged him slightly.

I grabbed the raised branch, so I could yank it out of the snow boulder.

Fwosty flung his arm back, throwing me off. He turned away from Bobby and glared at me. Yeah, snack-food eyes can glare. Trust me on this. And hope that you never find out in person.

“Run!” I shouted to Ian and Jill.

I pushed Ian ahead of me, and we took off along the path that circled the lake. The cabins would be safer, if we could get inside, but they were uphill from us. I didn't want to let Fwosty get close to me with those branches.

We ran.

Ian must have been tired from his trips for the scarf and hat. He lagged after we'd run a few yards. I reached down and scooped him up. Or tried to. I slipped on the snow, and my body twisted. I ended up flinging him onto the snow-covered frozen lake. I figured he'd be safe, as long as Fwosty was still chasing me. The ice was thick.

I got back to my feet and ran. Jill froze. Okay, bad word choice. But she stopped running and stared toward Ian. Bad move. I reached to pull her out of the way, but Fwosty clobbered her with a swipe to the gut. She doubled over and went flying. Fwosty turned his attention back to me.

He pointed a branch at me. And, I swear, his tortilla-chip eyes narrowed slightly, as if he had especially painful plans for me. He smacked his arms together. I ran.

I risked a quick glance over my shoulder. Bobby and Jill were both down and out. Neither was moving yet. I checked Ian. He was twitching, like he was having some kind of seizure.

“Ian!” I yelled. “Hold on. I'm coming.”

I had to get to him. I spun toward the lake, and nearly had my head taken off when Fwosty made a hard swipe. I barely managed to lean back far enough to get my head out of the way. The branch buzzed past my face, clipping my shoulder. Fwosty would cut me off if I tried to run to Ian. The best thing I could do was lead him away, and hope that the others could escape.

I headed back along the path around the lake. I was running out of steam. I checked on Ian again. He'd gotten to his feet.

“Go to the cabin!” I shouted.

He took two steps, then fell flat on his back like he'd passed out. He started twitching again.

This was killing me. I needed to get to him. I was his big brother. It was my job to protect him. But Fwosty wanted to beat me down. And once all four of us were down, who knew what the killer snowman would do next? I shuddered as my mind flashed back to the moment when Bobby was almost impaled.

I ran. I gasped for breath. The freezing air ripped at my lungs. My legs ached. I saw Ian try to rise again. He managed another two or three steps before falling.

I staggered as Fwosty smacked my back, right between my shoulder blades. He was catching up. I pumped my legs hard, and gave it everything I had.

And then, I had nothing left to give.

I fell, face-first. I rolled over, but didn't have the strength to get to my feet.

Fwosty caught up with me. From my perspective on the ground, he looked twenty feet tall.

He pointed a branch at my chest. I was about to get pinned to the ground like a butterfly in a museum.

I heard a
whoosh
like a thousand doves had been set loose.

Golden light struck us, freezing Fwosty. Yeah, I know. Word choice, again. But he froze. Then, we both looked up.