October Girls: Crystal & Bone (26 page)

And Crystal realized Dempsey hadn’t been addressing Royce at all. He’d been triggering the brainwashing effect by using the subliminal code word. The faces at the window bleated the name “Royce” over and over, a couple of palms smacking the window to get in, like zombies at lunch hour.

Their idol was inside the room, and only a thin membrane of glass separated the zombies from their chosen meat.

“Bone, a little help here,” Crystal said, but Bone had vanished.

So much for counting on friends.

“R
oyce. Royce.
ROYCE
!”

Bone couldn’t believe these teenagers had fallen for the same line of manure that she had. Just went to show that a smile, a little charm, and a couple of well-timed promises could gain you the world.

One thing’s not changed between dead and alive—”promises” still means “lies.”

Sure, it was partly her fault. But nobody could really blame her for messing with Minerva’s potions, spreading Dempsey’s videotapes, and stabbing Crystal in the back. When you wanted your life back, you played for keeps and took no prisoners. Otherwise, you ended up in prison yourself.

Forever.

Royce raised his arms, clearly reveling in the adulation. More teenagers crowded at the window, their zombie eyes glittering with celebrity hunger. Bone recognized Freddie Hyatt, the undertaker’s kid who’d put a frog in her locker in fourth grade, and Wilma Rae Dawn, the class brain who now looked as brainless as a pro wrestler.

The chant of “Royce” rose into the night, with Pettigrew also moaning the name as he swayed perilously close to the Orifice. Bone expected a Lurken tentacle to poke out and grab him at any moment.

“Yessss,” Royce shouted, making sure he was in front of the camera. “Eat your heart out, James.”

“Bone!” Crystal said. “Where are you?”

Bone hated abandoning her best friend, however briefly, but she needed to remain invisible for her next trick.

“Royce,” Dempsey said, flogging the megaphone to strike unseen creatures that scurried in the fog.

“Ah, even the director worships me,” Royce said.

“No, I want you to untangle me.”

“It’s my movie now,” Royce said. “All of it.”

Something brushed against Bone’s leg and she kicked at it. A squeak rose from the mist. Whatever they were, they could see dead people. Feel them, too.

“Stop him, Pettigrew,” Crystal yelled, twirling the curtain-covered boom pole like the flag bearer in a marching band. She planted one end in the carpet beneath the fog and pole vaulted onto the bed.

Unfortunately, she overshot the mark, bouncing up and—
thunk
—slamming her head against the wall and tumbling her witch’s hat into the fog.

Ouch. That had to hurt. The downside of flesh and blood.

Crystal wobbled on her knees, eyes rolling in different directions like marbles dropped in a bowl. Her head was inches from the edge of the Orifice. A tentacle flicked out in excitement, brushing a strand of her blonde hair.

They’re close—the Judge has them all gathered on the other side, ready to bust through as soon as Royce says the magic words.

“Nice of you to join me, Crystal,” Royce said, grabbing the groggy teen. “The Aldridges have kept us locked out for way too long.”

The zombies at the window kept on with their “Royce” voices. The rising drone of sound beyond suggested the yard was filled with hollow-eyed Royce worshippers, and Bone imagined the whole town murmuring his name. Tweety Bird’s stubby wings were nearly straight up.

A minute ‘til midnight.

Let’s see if I can get this right….

Royce was bouncing on the bed in sheer joy, waving his arms. “Kneel, kneel!”

The moaning of zombies filled the hallway. The Orifice swelled and throbbed like an electrified fungus. Tweety Bird started a maddeningly cute chirp.

Witching hour.

Bone drifted down through the fog and grabbed Crystal’s hat. The Spirit Rust was secreted inside the headband, and she pulled out the worn leather pouch that held the potion. Tugging the drawstrings open, she poured the gritty powder into her hand. A few grains dribbled through and down to the carpet before she remembered that she’d have to go solid.

Third time solid. The last time.

Well, it was fun while it lasted….

Bone stood, and Crystal blurted out her name.
Her
name, not Royce’s. In the real world, she still had one believer, one fan, one best friend.

Royce stopped his goofy, arrogant dance. “Whoa, Dollface. I knew you dug me. Just like all the rest.”

“I dig you, all right,” Bone said, raising the fistful of Spirit Rust. “I dig your
grave
.”

“Great line,” Dempsey said from somewhere beneath the fog. “Can I steal it?”

“Do it,” Crystal implored, as Tweety gave out his twelfth chirp and the zombies rumbled and Pettigrew gave out a blissful sigh of “Royce.”

Bone tossed the potion at Royce, who blinked as if expecting a loving rain of confetti for his coming-out party.

“Your turn,” Bone shouted to Crystal.

A
s Royce blinked against the Spirit Rust, Crystal recited the spell, shouting to be heard over the zombie teens and the slithering and clicking inside the Orifice.

“Ashes, ashes, dust to dust,

Wash your face in Spirit Rust,

When midnight starts the day anew,

Send the unborn—Pettigrew?”

Pettigrew had roused from his stupor, startled by the encroaching zombies in costume and the disorienting fog. When he lurched forward and grabbed her, Crystal had lost her train of thought.

Crystal recovered and blurted out the correct final words
.
“’Halfway through.’ That’s what I meant to say.
Halfway through.”

But it was too late. Royce wiped the grit from his face. He was angry, which made his smile all the more reptilian.

“My turn,” Royce said.
“Lurken, Spooge, and all that junk, get over here and eat this punk
.”

Tentacles protruded from the hole, flailing at the air, making wet noises. The twitching leg of some beetle-creature clambered out and
skritched
against the wall, grappling for purchase. The Underlings roiled to the surface of the fog like sharks smelling blood, their gray forms barely distinguishable in the gray mist. Dempsey squealed from somewhere beneath them, emitting a “
Mon dieu
“ as if only a French God could help him now.

“Jeez, Crystal, you screwed it up,” Bone said, invisible and somewhere to her left. “And I used my last solid.”

“I’m sorry,” Crystal said, almost glad she was going to be Lurken bait and wouldn’t have to explain her failure to Momma.

“Crystal, what’s that stuff coming out of the wall?” Pettigrew said, scooting away from the edge of the bed to avoid the swimming Underlings. “And whose voice is that?”

Pettigrew’s fault. Yeah. Because he interrupted.

Or Bone’s. If she hadn’t died, none of this would have ever happened.

One of the slimy, black tentacles swatted at her face, its cupped pink suckers flexing on the underside. Another tentacle undulated over the camera, then gripped it and raised it. The red light was on, meaning the film was rolling.

“Royce,” moaned the teens, spilling into the room and navigating through the fog toward the bed. An Edward Scissorhands, a Sunshine Care Bear, and an Oompah Loompah led the shambling charge, and then there was Maynard Hodge, the janitor’s kid, who was dressed as a janitor’s kid.

Crystal was about to go ahead and hurl herself into the Orifice and be done with it. But Bone whispered in her ear. “I have an idea.”

Crystal ducked as the camera-bearing tentacle swung wildly in the air. Royce tried to stay in front of the lens so he’d get his face time, but the frantic maneuvering nearly caused him to fall off the bed.

“He’s such a ham, he’ll fall for it,” Bone said.

“Hurry up, because Halloween is over,” Crystal said.

Upon mention of the word, the zombie teens quit their repetitive “Royce” chant and started mumbling “Halloween.”

“Hey,” Royce said to his fan base, wearing a pained expression and forgetting the camera. “It’s me, remember?”

“When I tickle that tentacle, grab the camera,” Bone said.

Crystal couldn’t see her, but a moment later, the tentacle quivered and shook, uncurling and dropping the camera. It bounced onto the bed and then into the fog,
thunking
against the shag carpet.

“Get it,” Crystal shouted at Pettigrew.

Confused but well-trained to obey, Pettigrew scrambled off the bed, diving into the fog where the camera had disappeared. He bobbed to the surface a moment later, delivering the camera while yelling “Ouch” as an Underling nipped at some hidden spare part.

At that same moment, Dempsey rose up on the other side of the bed like the Creature from the Black Lagoon. “My camera!” he screamed.

“Welcome to development hell,” Crystal said, tossing the camera into the Orifice.

“My
movie!
“ Royce took mincing hops across the bed and stuck his arm elbow-deep into the hole.

“Got one more up your sleeve?” Bone asked Crystal.

Crystal pulled her wart off her face, rolled the painted rubber cement between her fingers, and flicked it like a booger at Royce. As it bounced off him, she tried her back-up spell:

“Ashes ashes, bone to bone,

Let this sorry Royce be gone,

Wake the walking sleepyheads

And let the unborn join the dead.”

One of the Lurken tentacles grabbed Royce around the chest and yanked him deeper into the portal. “No,” he screamed. “Help, help. Come on, kids. Say it. ‘Royce.’ Let’s hear if for old Royce. You know. You
gotta
know. Royce Dean, the star, the household name. Bigger than James.”

But Crystal’s spell had pulled the teens from their trance, and they stood in the diminishing fog and looked at each other as if wondering what they were doing in Cindy Summerhill’s bedroom.

Except Maynard Hodge. He looked like he had been there before.

Pettigrew scrambled onto the bed and gave Royce a giant shove, and Royce’s handsome, wavy-haired head disappeared as if he were being born in reverse. The Orifice spasmed and flexed, drawing him deeper, and another tentacle wrapped around his waist.

The ensuing yank pulled his blue jeans tight around his bottom.

Bet Bone would love to give him a spanking
, Crystal thought, expecting him to slide the rest of the way through.

“Come back, Royce,” Dempsey shouted.

“Say ‘
Au revoir
,’” Crystal said, trying to impress Pettigrew.

“Do what?” he said.

But Royce didn’t slide inside the Orifice and disappear. His lower torso and legs dangled out from the wall, the Orifice shrinking around him as he kicked and thumped.

“Hmm,” Bone said. “Must have been that ‘halfway through’ thing.”

“Yeah. I can never get that right.”

“Maybe Cindy will have some use for her new wall decoration.”

“Too much information.”

“Who are you talking to?” Pettigrew asked Crystal.

“Hey, it’s a game of Halloween Twister,” said Edward Scissorhands, who sounded a lot like Webb Wilson, the guy who’d sat behind Crystal in sophomore algebra.

Dempsey had climbed onto the bed and was desperately trying to tug Royce out of the wall, or else join him on the other side where the camera was.

“One more time,” Crystal said.

“Ashes, ashes, bone to bone,

Let the sorry Royce be gone,

No more October left to play,

Now all dead things must go away.”

“Gee, thanks,” whispered Bone’s disembodied, fading voice, as Royce’s legs and feet shot through the Orifice with a final
slorrrp
.

“What just happened?” Pettigrew asked, a question that most of the students at Parson’s Ford High School would be asking until New Year’s.

“I think I just killed my best friend a second time,” Crystal said.

N
ovember.

The video store was slow, in the lull before the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays, and summer wasn’t yet long enough gone to make the tanning booths alluring. There was only one customer, Madame Fingers, who’d become a big fan of the tanning booth.

A Pixar movie was playing on the corner TV, but Crystal’s attention was glued to her history textbook. The GED’s were coming up, and presidents Andrew Jackson and James Monroe were all mixed up in her mind.

People had such dull, ordinary names back then, it was a wonder anyone could ever tell them apart.

The bell over the door rang, and Crystal barely glanced that way. Probably someone returning a DVD.

The tape slid onto the counter beside her book. She looked up. Momma grinned, her mouth firmly back in place.

“Found this in the trailer,” she said. “It’s probably overdue.”

The Bloodening.

Only a handful of the Dempsey’s movies had been returned to Fatback Bob’s, and she carefully collected them in a plastic bag, took them out back, stripped the magnetic tape from them, and bashed in the cases with a chunk of cinder block.

Dempsey’s test audience had voiced its opinion, and the result meant he’d had to move back to California, where people were a lot easier to fool.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Want to talk about it yet?”

“Please. Between you and Miss McMarkus, I’ll never have any decent secrets.”

“Bet you didn’t tell her about the dead boy stuck in your bedroom wall.”

Crystal glanced at the far wall in the video store. The first Orifice had narrowed so that it now looked like a nail hole. The gateways between dimensions never really vanished, Momma had explained. They just tended to shrivel up until October rolled around and things got juicy again.