Shivers 7 by Stephen King, Clive Barker, Bill Pronzini, Graham Masterton, Rio Youers, Ed Gorman, Rick Hautala, Norman Partridge, Norman Prentiss
Authors: Stephen King, Clive Barker, Bill Pronzini, Graham Masterton, Rio Youers, Ed Gorman, Rick Hautala, Norman Partridge, Norman Prentiss
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funny, and for a moment Craig wondered if maybe he should punch the guy too. Then Skates grabbed at the steering wheel. “Oh man, how fast did this thing go? I bet you had to hold on for dear life!”
All three of them were laughing now, a kind of pre-drunk high where stupid stuff managed to hit you the right way. “God, Craig, your mom must have been terrified.”
“Stop it. You’re killing me.” Craig lifted a bottle from his half of the carton, popped it open.
“I mean, with this thing spinning and shit. It spins, right?” He held the wheel again, this time grunting.
“Put your weight into it,” Eddie said.
“Yeah, it spins. It’s gotta.” He had that same determined look on his face like when he attempted a triple Ollie or tried to jump his board over the curb. He usually failed.
“Let me.” Eddie grabbed the wheel too, and there was some confusion over clockwise or counter-clockwise, you idiot , and still nothing happened. Then Skates grunted like grinding metal, or that movie sound a pirate ship makes when the deck lurches.
The teacup didn’t spin, though. It tilted up off its saucer at a steep angle, as if some invisible giant lifted it to take a drink.
The big flashlight rattled off the wheel and onto the ground. Craig saved the carton, though he spilled his half-empty bottle in the process. He remained inside the cup, one leg balanced against the steering post. Skates had been in the end that arced into the air, and he’d kind of leaped out, arms and legs wide, and actually cleared the guardrail surrounding the entire ride—probably his most impressive aerial stunt ever, if he’d actually planned it, and if he hadn’t tripped on his ass after he landed. Wipe-out.
Eddie was outside the dip, like he’d been poured out of the cup onto the metal platform. His foot was caught under the cup’s rim.
“Careful,” he said. Craig stepped down to help him, and the shift in weight curled the rim tighter against Eddie’s ankle. Where the flashlight had fallen, its beam illuminated Eddie’s expression: he smiled and winced at the same time, his face round and white in the glow, like Tweedledum.
“Don’t think that was supposed to happen.” Skates dusted off the seat of his trousers and straddled back over the guardrail. “Somebody musta hit the reject button.”
“Quit joking around and get this offa me.” It was Eddie’s teacher voice, since he liked to imagine himself as the guy who kept everybody else in line. But how often is a teacher flat on the ground, stuck under a giant cup? In that position, it would be wise not to get bossy with the students.
Craig was used to this tone, so it didn’t bother him. The most important thing was to help his friend. Besides, they could tease him mercilessly later.
“Roll it counter- clockwise,” Tweedle-Eddie said. “To the left. My left, not yours. Toward the castle.”
Maybe it was too much clarification, like they were both stupid. Skates got called stupid often enough, and had the grades to back it up. He wasn’t that strong either, but he was tall—which sometimes gave him leverage.
Craig knelt down, pushing against the cup to roll it to the left—per teacher’s instructions—and it felt smooth, like Skates was working with him, but also like the cup was moving on its own. It may have been like guiding a planchette around a Ouija board, where the slider seems to move by magic, but maybe somebody’s fingers are pushing that thing on purpose. To make the board tell the guy something he needs to hear.
He pushed, Skates pushed near the top— leverage —and the cup didn’t so much roll to the left as it just kept tipping. Off the saucer, and over Eddie.
It sounded like a car crash. A heavy dent into the hollow metal platform, an echoing scrape against the matching saucer.
Eddie was silent.
Then, not so silent. High pitched complaints about how he landed, the rim barely missing his head, and his body cramped and curled around the
All three of them were laughing now, a kind of pre-drunk high where stupid stuff managed to hit you the right way. “God, Craig, your mom must have been terrified.”
“Stop it. You’re killing me.” Craig lifted a bottle from his half of the carton, popped it open.
“I mean, with this thing spinning and shit. It spins, right?” He held the wheel again, this time grunting.
“Put your weight into it,” Eddie said.
“Yeah, it spins. It’s gotta.” He had that same determined look on his face like when he attempted a triple Ollie or tried to jump his board over the curb. He usually failed.
“Let me.” Eddie grabbed the wheel too, and there was some confusion over clockwise or counter-clockwise, you idiot , and still nothing happened. Then Skates grunted like grinding metal, or that movie sound a pirate ship makes when the deck lurches.
The teacup didn’t spin, though. It tilted up off its saucer at a steep angle, as if some invisible giant lifted it to take a drink.
The big flashlight rattled off the wheel and onto the ground. Craig saved the carton, though he spilled his half-empty bottle in the process. He remained inside the cup, one leg balanced against the steering post. Skates had been in the end that arced into the air, and he’d kind of leaped out, arms and legs wide, and actually cleared the guardrail surrounding the entire ride—probably his most impressive aerial stunt ever, if he’d actually planned it, and if he hadn’t tripped on his ass after he landed. Wipe-out.
Eddie was outside the dip, like he’d been poured out of the cup onto the metal platform. His foot was caught under the cup’s rim.
“Careful,” he said. Craig stepped down to help him, and the shift in weight curled the rim tighter against Eddie’s ankle. Where the flashlight had fallen, its beam illuminated Eddie’s expression: he smiled and winced at the same time, his face round and white in the glow, like Tweedledum.
“Don’t think that was supposed to happen.” Skates dusted off the seat of his trousers and straddled back over the guardrail. “Somebody musta hit the reject button.”
“Quit joking around and get this offa me.” It was Eddie’s teacher voice, since he liked to imagine himself as the guy who kept everybody else in line. But how often is a teacher flat on the ground, stuck under a giant cup? In that position, it would be wise not to get bossy with the students.
Craig was used to this tone, so it didn’t bother him. The most important thing was to help his friend. Besides, they could tease him mercilessly later.
“Roll it counter- clockwise,” Tweedle-Eddie said. “To the left. My left, not yours. Toward the castle.”
Maybe it was too much clarification, like they were both stupid. Skates got called stupid often enough, and had the grades to back it up. He wasn’t that strong either, but he was tall—which sometimes gave him leverage.
Craig knelt down, pushing against the cup to roll it to the left—per teacher’s instructions—and it felt smooth, like Skates was working with him, but also like the cup was moving on its own. It may have been like guiding a planchette around a Ouija board, where the slider seems to move by magic, but maybe somebody’s fingers are pushing that thing on purpose. To make the board tell the guy something he needs to hear.
He pushed, Skates pushed near the top— leverage —and the cup didn’t so much roll to the left as it just kept tipping. Off the saucer, and over Eddie.
It sounded like a car crash. A heavy dent into the hollow metal platform, an echoing scrape against the matching saucer.
Eddie was silent.
Then, not so silent. High pitched complaints about how he landed, the rim barely missing his head, and his body cramped and curled around the
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