okay?”
I stared at the doorknob, listening to her breathing on the other side of the
door. “Steve, I bought you those black-and-white cookies that you love. Your
favorites. Do you want one? Maybe it’ll make you feel better.”
My stomach growled. Those cookies are my favorites. Dripping with chocolate
icing on one side and vanilla icing on the other. “Maybe later,” I moaned.
“But I drove two miles out of my way to buy them for you,” Mom said.
“Later. I’m really not feeling well.” I was telling the truth. My temples
throbbed. My whole body ached. I felt so weak, I could barely stand up.
“I’ll call you for dinner,” Mom said. I listened to her make her way back
down the stairs. Then I hobbled over to the bed and slumped my old man’s body
down onto the edge.
“Now what?” I asked myself. I pressed my hands against my scabby cheeks. “How
do I get out of this thing?”
I shut my tired, burning eyes and tried to think. After a few minutes, Carly
Beth’s face floated into my mind.
“Yes!” I croaked. “Carly Beth is the one person in the world who can help
me.”
Carly Beth wore a mask from the same store last Halloween. Maybe the same
thing happened to her. Maybe her mask stuck to her face and changed her.
She got her mask off. She will know how I can get my mask off too.
The phone stood across the room beside the computer on my desk. Normally, I’d
be over there in three seconds. But it took me three minutes of grunting and
straining to get my old body to stand up. Then it took another five minutes to
drag myself across the room.
By the time I dropped into my desk chair, I was exhausted. It took all of my
strength to raise my hand and punch in Carly Beth’s number on the phone.
I can’t go on like this, I told myself. She’s got to help me. She’s got to know how to get this mask off.
After the third ring, Carly Beth’s father answered. “Hello?”
“Hi… uh… could I speak to Carly Beth?” I choked out.
A silence. Then: “Who is this?” Mr. Caldwell sounded confused.
“It’s me,” I answered. “Is Carly Beth there?”
“Is this one of her teachers?” he demanded.
“No. It’s Steve. I—”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t hear you very well. Can you speak up? Why did you
wish to speak to my daughter? Perhaps I can help you?”
“No… I—”
I heard Mr. Caldwell speak softly to someone else at his house. “It’s an old
man, asking for Carly Beth. I can barely hear him. He won’t say who he is.”
He came back on the phone. “Are you one of her teachers, sir? Where do you
know my daughter from?”
“She’s my friend,” I croaked.
I heard him turn again to someone else in the room, probably Carly Beth’s
mom. He muffled the phone with his hand, but I heard what he said: “I think it’s
a nut. Some kind of crank call.”
He returned to me. “Sorry, sir. My daughter can’t come to the phone.” He hung
up.
I sat there listening to the buzz in my spider-filled ear.
Now what? I asked myself.
Now what?
18
I must have fallen asleep in the desk chair. I don’t know how long I slept.
I was awakened by Dad pounding on my bedroom door. “Steve—dinnertime!” he
called in.
I sat up with a start. My back ached from sleeping sitting up. I rubbed my
wrinkled neck, trying to rub away the stiffness.
“Steve—are you coming down to dinner?” Dad asked.
“I—I’m not very hungry,” I croaked. “I’m going to take a nap, Dad. I think
I’m getting sick.”
“Hey, don’t get sick the night before Halloween,” he replied. “You don’t want
to miss out on trick-or-treating.”
“I—I’ll be okay,” I stammered in my hoarse voice. “If I get a good night’s
sleep, I’ll be fine.”
Yeah. Right.
I’ll be one hundred and fifty. But I’ll be fine.
I let out an unhappy sigh.
“We’ll bring you up some soup or something later,” Dad called in. Then he disappeared downstairs.
I stared at the phone.
I stared at the doorknob, listening to her breathing on the other side of the
door. “Steve, I bought you those black-and-white cookies that you love. Your
favorites. Do you want one? Maybe it’ll make you feel better.”
My stomach growled. Those cookies are my favorites. Dripping with chocolate
icing on one side and vanilla icing on the other. “Maybe later,” I moaned.
“But I drove two miles out of my way to buy them for you,” Mom said.
“Later. I’m really not feeling well.” I was telling the truth. My temples
throbbed. My whole body ached. I felt so weak, I could barely stand up.
“I’ll call you for dinner,” Mom said. I listened to her make her way back
down the stairs. Then I hobbled over to the bed and slumped my old man’s body
down onto the edge.
“Now what?” I asked myself. I pressed my hands against my scabby cheeks. “How
do I get out of this thing?”
I shut my tired, burning eyes and tried to think. After a few minutes, Carly
Beth’s face floated into my mind.
“Yes!” I croaked. “Carly Beth is the one person in the world who can help
me.”
Carly Beth wore a mask from the same store last Halloween. Maybe the same
thing happened to her. Maybe her mask stuck to her face and changed her.
She got her mask off. She will know how I can get my mask off too.
The phone stood across the room beside the computer on my desk. Normally, I’d
be over there in three seconds. But it took me three minutes of grunting and
straining to get my old body to stand up. Then it took another five minutes to
drag myself across the room.
By the time I dropped into my desk chair, I was exhausted. It took all of my
strength to raise my hand and punch in Carly Beth’s number on the phone.
I can’t go on like this, I told myself. She’s got to help me. She’s got to know how to get this mask off.
After the third ring, Carly Beth’s father answered. “Hello?”
“Hi… uh… could I speak to Carly Beth?” I choked out.
A silence. Then: “Who is this?” Mr. Caldwell sounded confused.
“It’s me,” I answered. “Is Carly Beth there?”
“Is this one of her teachers?” he demanded.
“No. It’s Steve. I—”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t hear you very well. Can you speak up? Why did you
wish to speak to my daughter? Perhaps I can help you?”
“No… I—”
I heard Mr. Caldwell speak softly to someone else at his house. “It’s an old
man, asking for Carly Beth. I can barely hear him. He won’t say who he is.”
He came back on the phone. “Are you one of her teachers, sir? Where do you
know my daughter from?”
“She’s my friend,” I croaked.
I heard him turn again to someone else in the room, probably Carly Beth’s
mom. He muffled the phone with his hand, but I heard what he said: “I think it’s
a nut. Some kind of crank call.”
He returned to me. “Sorry, sir. My daughter can’t come to the phone.” He hung
up.
I sat there listening to the buzz in my spider-filled ear.
Now what? I asked myself.
Now what?
18
I must have fallen asleep in the desk chair. I don’t know how long I slept.
I was awakened by Dad pounding on my bedroom door. “Steve—dinnertime!” he
called in.
I sat up with a start. My back ached from sleeping sitting up. I rubbed my
wrinkled neck, trying to rub away the stiffness.
“Steve—are you coming down to dinner?” Dad asked.
“I—I’m not very hungry,” I croaked. “I’m going to take a nap, Dad. I think
I’m getting sick.”
“Hey, don’t get sick the night before Halloween,” he replied. “You don’t want
to miss out on trick-or-treating.”
“I—I’ll be okay,” I stammered in my hoarse voice. “If I get a good night’s
sleep, I’ll be fine.”
Yeah. Right.
I’ll be one hundred and fifty. But I’ll be fine.
I let out an unhappy sigh.
“We’ll bring you up some soup or something later,” Dad called in. Then he disappeared downstairs.
I stared at the phone.
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