Should I try Carly Beth again?
No, I decided. She won’t believe it’s me. She’ll hang up the way her father
did.
I scratched my ears. I could feel the spiders crackling around in them. I
touched the bare spot on top of my head where the skin was ripped apart. The
skin was soft and wet. I could feel the patch of hard skull that showed through.
“Ohhhh.” Another long sigh.
I’ve got to think, I told myself. I’ve got to think of a way out of this.
But I felt so weary, so sleepy.
I pulled myself up and slumped to the bed. A few seconds later, I fell sound
asleep.
I awoke to bright sunlight streaming through my bedroom window.
I blinked several times, startled by the bright morning light. Morning.
Halloween morning.
It should have been a happy day. An exciting day. But instead…
I reached up with both hands and touched the sides of my face.
Smooth!
My cheeks felt smooth. Soft and smooth.
I rubbed my ears. Small ears. My ears. No spiders!
I raised both hands to my hair. And touched my hair. Not the stringy,
old man’s hair.
Hesitantly, carefully, I touched the torn spot on top of my head where the
skull showed through.
Not there!
“I’m me again!” I cried out loud. I let out a long whoop of joy.
No old man’s mask. No old man’s voice. No old man’s body.
It had all been a dream. A horrible nightmare.
Still blinking in the light, I gazed happily around my room.
“I dreamed it all!” I cried.
Going down to that dark store basement. Pawing through the carton of masks.
The man in the cape. The mask of the old man. Sneaking it home and trying it on.
The mask sticking to my skin. Refusing to come off.
All a dream!
All a horrifying nightmare that was over now.
I was so happy! This had to be the happiest moment of my life.
I started to jump out of bed. I wanted to leap around my room, to dance for
joy.
But then my eyes blinked open. And I woke up for real…
19
…I woke up for real.
And knew that I had only dreamed that it was all a dream!
I grabbed my face—and felt the craggy wrinkles, the heavy scabs. I rubbed
my nose and brushed the green gobs stuck in my nostrils.
I had dreamed that the mask didn’t exist.
I had dreamed that I had my own face back. My own voice and body.
All a dream. A wonderful dream.
But now I was really awake—and really in trouble.
I pulled myself up and brushed the stringy, yellow hair out of my eyes. “I
have to tell Mom and Dad,” I decided. “I can’t spend another day like this.”
I had slept in my clothes. I staggered to my feet and dragged my old body to
the door. I tugged open the door—and saw a note taped on the other side.
Dear Steve,
Hope you’re feeling better. Mom and I had to go visit your Aunt Helen
this morning. We left early to beat the traffic. We’ll be home in time to
help you with your hobo costume. Love, Dad
My hobo costume?
Not this year. Besides, since I was now at least one hundred and fifty, I was
a little old to go trick-or-treating!
Crinkling the note in my hand, I made the long trip down to the kitchen,
holding on to the banister, taking one step at a time. I had a sudden craving
for a steaming bowl of oatmeal and a cup of hot milk.
“Oh, no!” I croaked. I was starting to think like an old man!
I made myself a breakfast of orange juice and corn flakes. I carried it to
the table and sat down to eat. The juice glass felt strange against my fat,
brown lips. And it was almost impossible to chew the cornflakes with just one
long, crooked tooth.
“What am I going to do?” I moaned out loud.
Then, suddenly, I had an answer.
I decided to go ahead with my plan to terrify the first graders. Why
shouldn’t I pay back those bratty kids for all the trouble they gave me day after day on the soccer
field?
Yes! I decided. When Mom and Dad get home, I’ll greet them and show off my
old-man costume. They won’t know it isn’t a costume. They’ll think it’s
No, I decided. She won’t believe it’s me. She’ll hang up the way her father
did.
I scratched my ears. I could feel the spiders crackling around in them. I
touched the bare spot on top of my head where the skin was ripped apart. The
skin was soft and wet. I could feel the patch of hard skull that showed through.
“Ohhhh.” Another long sigh.
I’ve got to think, I told myself. I’ve got to think of a way out of this.
But I felt so weary, so sleepy.
I pulled myself up and slumped to the bed. A few seconds later, I fell sound
asleep.
I awoke to bright sunlight streaming through my bedroom window.
I blinked several times, startled by the bright morning light. Morning.
Halloween morning.
It should have been a happy day. An exciting day. But instead…
I reached up with both hands and touched the sides of my face.
Smooth!
My cheeks felt smooth. Soft and smooth.
I rubbed my ears. Small ears. My ears. No spiders!
I raised both hands to my hair. And touched my hair. Not the stringy,
old man’s hair.
Hesitantly, carefully, I touched the torn spot on top of my head where the
skull showed through.
Not there!
“I’m me again!” I cried out loud. I let out a long whoop of joy.
No old man’s mask. No old man’s voice. No old man’s body.
It had all been a dream. A horrible nightmare.
Still blinking in the light, I gazed happily around my room.
“I dreamed it all!” I cried.
Going down to that dark store basement. Pawing through the carton of masks.
The man in the cape. The mask of the old man. Sneaking it home and trying it on.
The mask sticking to my skin. Refusing to come off.
All a dream!
All a horrifying nightmare that was over now.
I was so happy! This had to be the happiest moment of my life.
I started to jump out of bed. I wanted to leap around my room, to dance for
joy.
But then my eyes blinked open. And I woke up for real…
19
…I woke up for real.
And knew that I had only dreamed that it was all a dream!
I grabbed my face—and felt the craggy wrinkles, the heavy scabs. I rubbed
my nose and brushed the green gobs stuck in my nostrils.
I had dreamed that the mask didn’t exist.
I had dreamed that I had my own face back. My own voice and body.
All a dream. A wonderful dream.
But now I was really awake—and really in trouble.
I pulled myself up and brushed the stringy, yellow hair out of my eyes. “I
have to tell Mom and Dad,” I decided. “I can’t spend another day like this.”
I had slept in my clothes. I staggered to my feet and dragged my old body to
the door. I tugged open the door—and saw a note taped on the other side.
Dear Steve,
Hope you’re feeling better. Mom and I had to go visit your Aunt Helen
this morning. We left early to beat the traffic. We’ll be home in time to
help you with your hobo costume. Love, Dad
My hobo costume?
Not this year. Besides, since I was now at least one hundred and fifty, I was
a little old to go trick-or-treating!
Crinkling the note in my hand, I made the long trip down to the kitchen,
holding on to the banister, taking one step at a time. I had a sudden craving
for a steaming bowl of oatmeal and a cup of hot milk.
“Oh, no!” I croaked. I was starting to think like an old man!
I made myself a breakfast of orange juice and corn flakes. I carried it to
the table and sat down to eat. The juice glass felt strange against my fat,
brown lips. And it was almost impossible to chew the cornflakes with just one
long, crooked tooth.
“What am I going to do?” I moaned out loud.
Then, suddenly, I had an answer.
I decided to go ahead with my plan to terrify the first graders. Why
shouldn’t I pay back those bratty kids for all the trouble they gave me day after day on the soccer
field?
Yes! I decided. When Mom and Dad get home, I’ll greet them and show off my
old-man costume. They won’t know it isn’t a costume. They’ll think it’s
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