I shivered. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
Mike and Liz didn’t hear me. They were already climbing the front fence, sneaking into the farm.
A few seconds later we stood side by side, catching our breath, gazing at the hills of pumpkins that stretched before us.
The wind whispered through the vines, making them quiver and bend. The scarecrows creaked, shaking their arms as if waving us away. A large pumpkin came bouncing down a hill. Thud thud thud…
“It’s alive!” I cried, making a joke.
But Liz and Mike didn’t laugh.
“It’s creepy here at night,” Liz murmured, shivering.
The wind blew my hood back onto my shoulders. A creaking sound made me jump. Just a scarecrow tilting on its pole.
“It’s so silvery and strange at night,” Liz whispered, keeping close to me. “Like walking on the moon.”
Mike pulled something out of the plastic bag he had brought.
“What’s that?” I asked.
He held up a can. Spray paint. Black spray paint.
“Oh, no. What are you going to do with that?” I asked.
A grin spread over his face. “Have fun.”
“Mike, wait--”
He bent down over a large pumpkin and sprayed a smile face across the front. Then he ran along the row of pumpkins, spraying black X’s over them.
Mike pulled paint cans from his bag and gave one to Liz and one to me.
“No way,” I said, handing the can back to him.
“Come on, Andrew,” Liz urged. “It’s Halloween. Don’t be such a wimp.” She leaned down and sprayed a big black heart on a pumpkin.
Mike sprayed his initials--MG--on a bunch of pumpkins, giggling as he worked. “Mr. Palmer will never sell these!”
Liz moved quickly down the row, spraying hearts. I painted I WUZ HERE on a few really big pumpkins.
I stopped when I heard Liz scream. She fell and hit the ground hard. The paint can bounced out of her hand.
I ran over to her. “Tripped on a stupid vine,” she groaned. “Ow. My ankle.”
As I helped her up, she gazed over my shoulder and let out a startled cry. “He’s here! Mr. Palmer!”
My heart pounded. I spun around and stared in fright.
No. Not Mr. Palmer.
A scarecrow. Just a tall scarecrow. An orange cap resting on its straw head.
“I think I’ve had enough fun. It’s too creepy here,” Liz said, rubbing her ankle. “Let’s go home.”
“Hey, Mike,” I called. “Let’s get out of here.”
Mike?
Where was he?
I turned…and gasped.
He was climbing over the green fence.
“No!” Liz screamed.
“Mike--no! Mike!” I cried.
He dropped to the other side. To Mr. Palmer’s private pumpkin collection.
A chill of fear trickled down my back.
Mike is going too far, I thought. Mr. Palmer keeps those pumpkins locked up for a reason. He called them his babies….
My heart pounding, I took off, running to the fence. Liz followed, limping on her twisted ankle.
“Mike! Hey, Mike!” I called. “Come out of there--now!”
No answer.
Then I heard a shrill scream. “Help me! Ohhh, help!”
I forced myself to run faster. I heard another scream. “Ohhh--”
The scream cut off quickly.
I reached the fence. It was a few feet taller than me. I jumped and grabbed onto the top.
As I pulled myself up, I thought I saw long, silvery vines moving, standing up like snakes, reaching up, wriggling and twisting up off the ground.
No. No way. That’s crazy, I told myself.
Using all my strength, I hoisted myself up--and over to the other side. I landed hard on both feet and gazed around quickly. “Mike?”
“Andrew, what’s going on?” Liz carefully lowered herself over the fence.
“Mike?” I called again. Then I saw him, standing at the end of the first row. I recognized his bomber jacket, his jeans, torn at one knee, his sneakers…
But on his shoulders…on his shoulders…
A round, orange pumpkin rested on his shoulders.
“Mike--how did you get that pumpkin over your head?” I ran to him, shouting breathlessly. “Take that pumpkin off! We have to go! Let’s go! Why are you wearing that thing?”
I didn’t wait for him to reply. I grabbed the pumpkin in both hands--and pulled it off his shoulders.
Liz screamed first. A shrill scream of horror.
I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out.
I still held the pumpkin. I stared at Mike’s shoulders.
No head. No head on his shoulders.
And then, my stomach lurching, chill after chill making my whole body shudder, I had to turn away.
The pumpkin fell from my hands. And rolled. Rolled up against a long, slender vine.
I stared at the vine. Followed it to the end.
And saw my brother’s head. Mike’s head sprouting from the end of the vine.
His dark eyes stared up at me. His mouth opened and closed as if trying to speak. His head quivered, then bounced hard as if trying to snap itself loose. But it was attached--growing from the vine!
“Ohhhhh.” A moan of horror escaped my throat.
I couldn’t speak or breathe or move.
My brother…my poor brother…
And then I saw the others.
Human heads…boys and girls…heads staring up at me from the ground…mouths opening and closing, silently begging for help…dozens of human heads, all sprouting from vines….
Now I knew what had happened to those kids who had disappeared last Halloween and the Halloween before.
As I stared at the hideous heads, I felt strong, thick vines stretching over my shoes, my ankles. I saw the vines reaching up off the ground, twisting around Liz, wrapping around her, pulling her down.
I felt the vines tightening around my waist. Around my chest.
But I couldn’t move.
Even when Mr. Palmer appeared, I couldn’t move.
I saw the smile on his orange-bearded face. Saw the deep, black, empty eyes. Watched him kneel down beside Mike’s head…Mike’s head on the vine.
Cold, wet vines wrapped around my throat. Tighter…tighter…but I couldn’t cry out. I couldn’t move.
Still grinning, Mr. Palmer spread his fingers over the top of Mike’s head and squeezed.
“Not quite ripe,” he said. “But it’s getting there.”
Alien Candy
INTRODUCTION
ILLUSTRATED BY EDWARD KOREN
After-school clubs were a big deal when I was in school. There were cool clubs that were hard to join. And nerdy clubs with only a few members, desperate for more recruits.
I remembered these clubs when I began this story. It’s about Walter, a shy boy who isn’t terribly popular. Walter is very excited when he is asked to join a club. The kids seem really friendly--and they ask him to be club president!
But as Walter calls his first meeting to order, he begins to wonder if he’s made a big mistake. A terrifying mistake. Maybe he should have checked the minutes of the last Alien Club meeting.
Walter cleared his throat. He was always a little nervous around kids he didn’t know well.
“I’d like to call this meeting of the Alien Club to order,” he said. He adjusted the square, black-framed glasses on his stubby nose and looked around Greg’s attic.
The attic was long and narrow, with movie posters on the brightly painted walls and beanbag chairs facing a beatup red leather couch. What a perfect place for these kids to have their meetings, Walter thought.
The boy named Greg sat on the old couch, between the two girls in the club, Bonnie and Natasha. Greg was blond and freckle faced and seemed very eager to impress the girls. He had a model of a Star Wars droid on his lap, and he was showing it off, demonstratin
g how it moved.
Evan, a dark-haired older boy, sprawled in a beanbag chair, his nose buried in a Star Trek novel.
“Come on, guys,” Walter pleaded. “Can we start? This is my first meeting, and I’m really eager to see what goes on here.”
No one paid any attention.
Bonnie, who seemed lively and playful, was wrestling Greg for the Star Wars figure. Her friend Natasha, a solemn-faced girl with steel-gray eyes, moved to a chair to get away from the tug-of-war.
“Hey, guys?” Walter tried again.
Evan kept his face in his book. Suddenly he started to giggle, his bony shoulders bouncing up and down. “Sorry. I just read a really funny part,” he explained.
What could be so funny in a Star Trek book? Walter wondered.
Maybe it was a mistake to join this club. He didn’t really know these kids. He couldn’t believe it when Bonnie came up to him in school and asked if he’d like to join and be the new president. She said she and the others thought he was a real leader. And that’s what their club needed. Someone who could help them get things done.
Why did he agree to join? Was it because he was flattered that they wanted him? Or was it because it was hard for him to make new friends?
It was for both those reasons, he thought. And for another reason too.
Walter liked the idea of hanging out with other kids who were interested in life from outer space. Since he was little, he had been fascinated by the idea of life on other planets.
Could aliens really exist? There were billions and billions of planets out there. The chances had to be pretty good.
The light in the attic window faded as the afternoon sun began to sink. Long shadows stretched across the floor.
Walter cleared his throat and tried again. “Can we get started? Since I’m new to the club, I just want to say thanks for naming me president. I’ll try to do a good job.”
On the couch Greg leaned close to Bonnie, showing her an article in a UFO magazine. Evan didn’t even glance up from his book.
“Come on, let’s start,” Natasha said, straightening the cluster of plastic earrings that dangled beneath her short, black hair. “I’m hungry.”
“We can’t eat yet,” Bonnie said. “First we have to read the minutes of the last meeting.”
Natasha sighed. “Well, okay…go ahead. Let’s get it over with.”
Walter looked from face to face. They don’t seem very enthusiastic, he thought. Aren’t they really interested in aliens?
“I’ll read the minutes of the last meeting,” Bonnie told Walter. She dug into her backpack and pulled out a notebook. She flipped through it until she found the right page. Then she began:
“At our last meeting we discussed ways to raise funds so we could take a trip to see the Extraterrestrial Art Exhibit at the Boston Museum. Greg was supposed to talk to Mr. Hemming at school about holding an Alien Carnival or something.”
“Mr. Hemming was sick,” Greg said. “I’ll try him next week.”
Bonnie rolled her eyes at Greg. Then she returned to her notes:
“Also at our last meeting, Natasha suggested we start an Alien Club newspaper and pass it out at school. The discussion was tabled till this meeting.”
“The discussion is tabled every meeting,” Natasha complained.
“That’s because it’s a bad idea,” Evan said, closing his book.
“A newspaper sounds like fun. Why do you think it’s a bad idea?” Walter asked.
“Because everyone at school already thinks we’re geeks or mutants or something,” Evan replied. “If we start passing out a newspaper, they’ll all laugh at us and start calling us aliens too.”
“He’s right,” Greg said. “We don’t want to attract attention--do we? I thought this was a secret club.”
Everyone started talking at once.
Walter raised his hands and tried to get their attention. “What do you think about the newspaper, Bonnie?” he asked, shouting over the other voices.
Bonnie tossed her copper-colored hair off a shoulder with a flick of her head. “We’ve had this argument a hundred times,” she said. “I think we table it and have our snack.”
“Yeah. My stomach is growling,” Greg said.
“Are--are we finished with the minutes?” Walter stammered. He felt confused. Why don’t they want to finish the discussion?
“Help me out here, guys,” he said. “As your new president, I want to do a good job. What comes next?”
No one answered. Evan returned to his book. The two girls began chattering to themselves.
“I’ll be right back,” Greg said. He jumped off the couch and made his way down the attic stairs at a run.
A few seconds later he reappeared carrying a small, purple bag. “Alien Candy for everyone!” he called out, breathless from running up the stairs.
“Alien Candy?” Walter asked. “That’s awesome! I’ve never seen that.”
Greg ripped open the bag and pulled out little squares of brown candy. “It’s a kind of like fudge. We’ve had it before.”
Bonnie grabbed the bag out of Greg’s hand. “I’m so hungry, I could eat an alien!” She popped a few squares of the dark-brown candy into her mouth and chewed.
“Let me try some,” Walter said, reaching for the bag. “It looks great.” He swallowed a square of the candy. It tasted sweet and a little like coffee.
Solemn-faced Natasha ate a handful of the little squares, chewing them slowly, deliberately. Greg popped a few into his mouth. Then he passed the bag down to Evan on the floor.
Evan swallowed two squares whole without even chewing them. “Not very filling,” he complained. “I’m still really hungry.”
Then Evan uttered a groan. His face began to twist and grow. His eyes and mouth sank into his head. His head inflated like a balloon.
He groaned again as his arms grew shiny, and stretched, stretched like rubber, thinner and thinner until he appeared to have two endless noodles dangling from his shoulders.
Walter gasped in shock as he stared at Evan--a pink, faceless balloon with spaghetti arms and legs.
“The Alien C-candy!” Walter gasped. “It--it turned Evan into an alien!”
“Oooh!” Bonnie let out a long, shrill howl.
And then she began to change too. With a deafening cracking sound enormous, hairy wings poked up from her back. Her mouth stretched open as two blue tongues darted out. A fat, pink tail, covered in black hair, plopped heavily to the floor behind her.
“Bonnie--not you too!” Walter cried. “The candy…”
Greg transformed quickly into a four-legged beast with a hard, green shell on his back. Antennae sprouted on Natasha’s head, and thin, white wings fluttered on her shoulders. She snapped her jaws as her neck stretched across the room.
“Aliens! We’re all turning into aliens!” Walter gasped, his back pressed against the attic wall. “We all ate the Alien Candy and--”
He stopped. His face felt hot. His heart pounded.
I’m changing too! he realized. I don’t believe this is happening!
His ears burned. His mouth suddenly felt so dry he couldn’t swallow.
I’m changing…changing…
The four ugly aliens snorted and grunted and growled, snapped ugly jaws and fluttered heavy wings.
Holding his breath, Walter examined his arms, his legs and feet. He felt his face with both hands.
Wait, he thought. Oh, wait.
What’s happening?
I’m the same. I haven’t changed. I ate the candy too. Why am I the only one who hasn’t changed?
The others were slowly surrounding him now, drooling, licking purple lips, snapping heavy jaws.
Walter gasped. “Hey, guys--” he choked out. “I get it. You were all aliens to begin with. I get it.”
He tried to back away. But they had him circled now.
“You--you didn’t want me to be your friend,” Walter stammered. “You didn’t really want me to be your president.”
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“You were a good choice for president!” Bonnie rasped, licking her fat lips with her two blue tongues. “We like the chubby ones.”
They devoured him in seconds. Not even a bone was left. Not a scrap of gristle.
“Meeting adjourned,” Greg announced with a loud burp.
“Hey, guys, let’s get started,” Jake shouted. He tucked his shirt in. It kept popping out over his big stomach.
It was a month later, and the Alien Club was meeting again in Greg’s attic. Evan was perched against the wall, reading The Martian Chronicles. Greg was showing off a stack of movie posters to Bonnie and Natasha.
“Let’s welcome our new president!” Bonnie cried.
“YAAAAAAY!” They all cheered and clapped.
Jake took a little bow. “Thanks, everyone,” he said. “As your new president, I call this meeting to order.”
He tucked the front of his shirt in again. “First I have to ask one question, guys. What exactly do you do at these meetings?”
The Most Evil Sorcerer
INTRODUCTION
ILLUSTRATED BY BERNIE WRIGHTSON
Some stories are written out of love. Some come from a darker place. I wrote this story on a dare.
Another writer--I can’t tell you his name--dared me to write a story that took place in another time, another world. A world that had nothing to do with my life or my memories. I picked a world of sorcerers and evil magic. I’ve always wanted to write about a time in which all kinds of magic, good and bad, can actually happen. A world in which no one is ever safe.
But I almost lost the bet. I couldn’t think of an ending for the story. I stared at my keyboard, stumped. Then, suddenly, my fingers started to move over the keys. The words and sentences came as if out of nowhere. I knew what was happening. The sorcerer had taken control. He was finishing the story for me.
Do you believe in magical powers? You might after you read this….
Margolin pulled back his hand and slapped Ned across the face. The smack echoed off the stone walls of the dining chamber.
Startled, the boy staggered back. His thin, pale face, white as the flour he had used to bake Margolin’s breakfast cakes, bloomed red where the sorcerer had slapped him.