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.
25
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.
He carried a clipboard in one hand. He had a silver whistle around his neck. He smiled at Marty and me and flashed us a thumbs-up.
“Hey, what’s up, guys? I’m Russ Denver. Good job! You looked really scared.”
“Huh?” I cried, my mouth dropping open. “We were really scared!”
“I’m so glad to see a real live human!” Marty cried.
“This tour—it’s totally messed up!” I shrieked. “The creatures—they’re alive! They tried to hurt us! They really did! It wasn’t any fun! It wasn’t like a ride!” The words spilled out of me in a rush.
“It was really gross! The werewolves snapped at us and chased us up a wall!” Marty exclaimed.
The two of us started talking at once, telling this guy Denver all of the frightening things that had happened to us on the tour.
“Whoa! Whoa!” A smile crossed his handsome face. He raised his clipboard as if to shield himself from us. “It’s all special effects, guys. Didn’t they explain to you that we’re making a movie here? That we were filming your reactions?”
“No. No one explained that, Mr. Denver!” I replied angrily. “My dad brought us here. He designed the studio tour. And he told us we were the first to try it out. But he didn’t tell us about any movie being filmed. I really think—”
I felt Marty’s hand on my shoulder. I knew Marty was trying to calm me down. But I didn’t want to be calmed down.
I was really angry.
Mr. Denver turned back to a group of crew members behind him in the street. “Take thirty, guys. Let’s break for dinner.”
They moved away, talking among themselves. Mr. Denver turned back to us. “Your father should have explained to you—”
“It’s okay. Really,” Marty interrupted. “We just got a little scared. All of the creatures seemed so real. And we didn’t see any other people anywhere. You’re the first real person we’ve seen all afternoon.”
“My dad must be really worried,” I told the movie director. “He said he’d be waiting for us on the main platform. Can you tell us how to get there?”
“No problem,” Mr. Denver replied. “See that big house there with the open door?” He pointed with his clipboard.
Marty and I stared at the house across the street. A narrow path led up to the house. A pale yellow light shone inside the open front door.
“That’s Shockro’s House of Shocks,” the director explained. “Go right in that door and straight through the house.”
“But won’t we get shocked in there?” Marty demanded. “In the movie, anyone who goes into Shockro’s house gets jolted with twenty million volts of electricity!”
“That’s just in the movie,” Mr. Denver replied.
“The house is just a set. It’s perfectly safe. Go through the house. Then out the back, and you will see the main building on the other side of the street. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you!” Marty and I called out at once.
Marty turned and started running full speed toward the house.
I turned back to Mr. Denver. “I’m sorry for yelling before,” I told him. “I was just so scared, and I thought—”
I gasped.
Mr. Denver had turned away. And I saw the long power cord—the power cord that was plugged into his back.
He wasn’t a real human. He wasn’t a movie director. He was some kind of robot.
He was fake like all the others. He was lying to us. Lying!
I turned and cupped my hands around my mouth. I started to run, frantically calling after Marty: “Don’t go in there! Marty—stop! Don’t go in that house!”
Too late.
Marty was already running through the door.
26
“Marty—wait! Stop!” I shouted as I ran.
I had to stop him.
The director was a fake. I knew he wasn’t telling the truth.
“Marty—please!”
My bare feet pounded the hard pavement. I plunged up the path as Marty trotted into the doorway.
“Stop!”
I flew to the doorway. Reached out both hands. Made a wild dive to tackle him.
And missed.
I skidded across the walk on my stomach.
As soon as Marty entered the house, I saw the flash of white light. I heard a loud buzz. Then the sharp crackle of electricity.
The room exploded in a flash of lightning. So bright I had to shield my eyes.
When I opened them, I saw Marty sprawled facedown on the floor. “Nooooo!” I let out a terrified wail.
Scrambling to my feet, I dove into the house.
Would I get shocked, too?
I didn’t care. I had to get to Marty. I had to help him out of there.
“Marty! Marty!” I
screamed his name again and again.
He didn’t move.
“Marty—please!” I grabbed his shoulders and started to shake him. “Wake up, Marty! Snap out of it! Marty!”
He didn’t open his eyes.
I suddenly felt a chill. A dark shadow slid over me.
And I realized I wasn’t alone in the house.
27
I spun around with a gasp.
Was it Shockro? Some other scary creature?
A tall figure leaned over me. I squinted into the darkness, struggling to see his face.
“Dad!” I cried as he came into focus. “Dad! Oh, I’m so glad to see you!”
“Erin, what are you doing here?” he asked in a low voice.
“It—it’s Marty!” I stammered. “You’ve got to help him, Dad. He’s been shocked and he—he—”
Dad leaned closer. Behind his eyeglasses, his brown eyes were cold. His face set in a troubled frown.
“Do something, Dad!” I pleaded. “Marty is hurt. He isn’t moving. He won’t open his eyes. The studio tour was so awful, Dad! Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong!”
He didn’t reply. He leaned closer.
And as his face came into the soft light, I saw that he wasn’t my father!
“Who are you?” I shrieked. “You’re not my dad! Why aren’t you helping me? Why aren’t you helping Marty? Do something—please! Where’s my dad? Where is he? Who are you? Help me! Somebody? Help me AAAAAARRRRRRRRR. Help MRRRRRRRRRRRR. Dad—MARRRRRRRRRRRRRR. DRRRMMMMMMMMmmmmm.”
28
Mr. Wright stood staring down at Erin and Marty. He shook his head unhappily. He shut his eyes and let out a long sigh.
Jared Curtis, one of the studio engineers, came running into The House of Shocks. “Mr. Wright, what happened to your two kid robots?” he demanded.
Mr. Wright sighed again. “Programming problems,” he muttered.
He pointed to the Erin robot, frozen in place on her knees beside the Marty robot. “I had to shut the girl off. Her memory chip must be bad. The Erin robot was supposed to think of me as her father. But just now, she didn’t recognize me.”
“And what about the Marty robot?” Jared asked.
“It’s totally down,” Mr. Wright replied. “I think the electrical system shorted out.”
“What a shame,” Jared said, bending to roll the Marty robot over. He pulled up the T-shirt and fiddled with some dials on the back. “Hey, Mr. Wright, it was a great idea to make robot kids to test the park. I think we can fix them.”
Jared opened up a panel on Marty’s back and squinted at the red and green wires. “All the other creatures, and monsters, and robots worked perfectly. Not a single bug.”
“I should have known there was a problem yesterday,” Mr. Wright said. “We were in my office. The Erin robot asked about her mother. I built her. She doesn’t have a mother.”
Mr. Wright tossed up his hands. “Oh, well. No problem. We’ll reprogram these two. Put in new chips. They’ll be good as new in no time. Then we’ll try them out once again on the Shocker Studio Tour, before we open the park to real kids.”
He took the Marty robot from Jared and slung it over his shoulder. Then he picked up the Erin robot. He tossed it over his other shoulder. Then, humming to himself, he carried them to the engineering building.
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R. L. Stine, 35 - A Shocker on Shock Street
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