The Curse of the Campfire Weenies (9 page)

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Authors: David Lubar

BOOK: The Curse of the Campfire Weenies
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“E
at your spinach,” Ed's mother said. She pointed to the mushy green puddle of overcooked goop that quivered on his otherwise-empty plate.
“No way.” Ed shook his head. “Why should I?”
“Bad things happen if you don't eat your vegetables,” his mother said.
“Yeah, right.” Ed took a deep breath. He was not going to eat that spinach, no matter what. Ed pushed back his chair and stood. He took his plate and walked over to the garbage can. Then, watching his mother out of the corner of his eye, he scraped the green glop into the garbage and waited for the explosion.
She didn't say a word. Ed wanted to say,
See, nothing bad happened,
but he knew that he'd be pushing his luck if he spoke. So he just gathered up the garbage bag and took it to the curb, removing even the slightest possibility that he'd have anything more to do with the spinach.
The tall bag fell on its side, but Ed didn't care. As he
walked back toward the house, a mouse came running from underneath the porch. Its keen sense of smell picked up the marvelous aroma of cooked vegetables. The mouse started gnawing at the bag. In seconds, the wonderful spinach gushed onto the ground. Soon several other mice came, drawn by the aroma and the sounds of a feast.
Ed walked into the kitchen, still half-amazed that he'd gotten away with it. He looked over at his mom. She was washing dishes and paying no attention to him.
Down the street, a cat lifted her head, her ears twitching at the sounds and scent of prey. She rose slowly, stretched, and padded along the sidewalk toward the mice. There was no need to slink and stalk. The prey was busy feasting and would never know she was there until it was too late.
Ed put an empty bag in the garbage can. Normally, he would have waited until he was told to do this, but he now saw the can as his partner in the war against vegetables. Future dinners would be so much more pleasant. Ed considered the joys of dumping Brussels sprouts or tossing out lima beans.
Across the street from the Ed's house, a dog spotted the cat and pulled at the rope that held him in his yard. As the dog yanked, the poorly tied rope slipped free. The dog leaped over the fence and started across the road, barking and growling.
Ed went through the kitchen to the living room, ready for the best part of the evening. He sat on the couch and picked up the remote control.
Down the street, a car carrying a man who was coming home from work swerved to avoid hitting the dog. The car hit a utility pole instead. The air bag worked, saving the driver from harm. But the pole broke. It fell, snapping all the wires, including the one that brought cable television into Ed's home.
Ed turned on the television. There was nothing but static. He tried another channel. It was dead. They were all dead. “Hey, Mom,” he shouted, “the television isn't working.”
“Well,” his mother called from the kitchen, “maybe next time you'll eat your vegetables.”
“T
his has to be some kind of joke,” Quinn said, holding up the current issue of
The Sound Scene,
the local free weekly paper that covered music and entertainment.
“Let me see.” Deliah leaned over and read the ad.
TURN IN WITCHES.
MAKE MONEY.
HELP PROTECT SOCIETY.
“It's got to be a joke or something,” Deliah said. “It's probably publicity for a play or a movie.”
“I don't know.” Quinn pointed to the bottom of the ad. “The address is real. Let's go check it out.”
Deliah sighed, then got up from the couch. “Whatever.” Quinn wasn't her brightest friend. And this would turn out to be something totally stupid. But there was nothing on television and she was bored.
The place was way downtown in a little street filled with junk shops and places selling stuff only tourists would want. There was no name on the window. Just a small sign that read: Inquire Within.
Deliah tried to look inside, but the place was too dark for her to see anything. “It's closed,” she said.
Quinn turned the knob. “It's open.” She went inside.
Deliah followed her. There was nothing inside except for a table with four chairs. A young woman sat at one of the chairs, drinking tea.
“We want to find out about turning in witches,” Quinn said.
Deliah expected the woman to laugh at her or toss them out, but instead, she smiled, pointed to a chair, and said, “Have a seat.”
“What's the deal?” Deliah asked as she sat.
“Witches are a threat to us,” the woman said. “Tea?”
“No thanks,” Quinn said.
The woman's voice sounded normal to Deliah, but her words were crazy. “There are no witches,” Deliah said.
The woman shrugged. “Then you can't make any money here.”
Quinn glared at Deliah. “Let's say there are witches. What kind of reward do you pay?”
“Five hundred dollars.”
When Deliah heard that, it no longer mattered to her whether the woman was crazy. If she was willing to hand out that kind of money, Deliah was willing to play her
crazy game. “Do we have to bring the witch here?” Deliah asked. She already had a couple people in mind. Creepy, spooky people who deserved to get in trouble.
“No,” the woman said. “Just bring information.”
Deliah stood. “Great.”
Once they got outside, Quinn asked, “So, how do we find a witch to turn in?”
“We just look for the right signs,” Deliah said. “You know—spooky lady who lives alone. Maybe bad things happen to her enemies. Or maybe she never ages.”
“Miss Miller!” Quinn shouted, naming their art teacher.
“Right!” Deliah said. “She's got that wart on her chin.”
“And remember what happened with Tony Bedner? After he'd made fun of her in class?”
“Oh yeah. That was awful.” Deliah had forgotten about that. Tony had fractured his leg the next day, slipping on a perfectly smooth and dry piece of sidewalk. He'd also knocked out three teeth. Even if Miss Miller wasn't really a witch, there might be enough evidence to earn Quinn and Deliah the reward. “Let's go back to my place and make up a list,” she said.
By the end of the evening, the girls had come up with nine people who might be witches. They had strong evidence for at least three of them.
“Who'd have thought there were so many witches?” Quinn said.
Deliah nodded. She still didn't really believe in witches, but she had to admit there was a lot of proof that
there was something strange about these people. And if Deliah and Quinn got paid for even one of the nine, that would be a lot of money.
“What's going to happen to them?” Quinn asked. “You think they'll get in trouble?”
“That's not our problem.” Deliah put the pad away. Then she yawned. “Wow. It's kind of late. I'm pretty sleepy. You mind if we don't watch a movie?”
“That's fine.” Quinn got up and headed for the door. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
As soon as the door closed, Deliah grabbed the list. It was late, but maybe the place was still open.
I came up with all of this,
she thought.
Or, at least, most of this. So why split the money with Quinn?
Besides, Quinn kept acting like she didn't want to go through with it.
But how to keep Quinn from finding out? Deliah smiled, grabbed her pen, and added Quinn's name to the list. She'd get the money and then, in the morning, tell Quinn she'd changed her mind. Then, if Quinn went by herself, the woman would call her a witch and Quinn would think she was crazy and go away.
“Perfect.” Deliah headed out.
The door was unlocked. The woman was there.
“I found some witches,” Deliah said.
The woman seemed excited. She pointed to a seat. Deliah sat, then slid the list over to her. The woman spent a minute reading the list. Then she reached under the table and grabbed a metal box. She put it down and
flipped open the lid. Deliah gasped as she caught sight of stacks of cash.
“I just need to ask a couple questions about each entry. We have to be sure before we take action. This is a very serious business.”
“No problem,” Deliah said.
“Tell me about this first one,” the woman said. She poured a cup of tea for Deliah.
“She's an art teacher,” Deliah said. She described the evidence, then took a sip of tea.
“And the next one?” the woman asked.
Deliah told the woman about her neighbor Ms. Suvaro. She talked for a long time, trying to hold off the moment when she had to make up lies about Quinn. As Deliah finished describing the third person on her list and drained the last of her cup, she asked the one thing that had been bothering her. “Why are you so eager to find witches?”
“We're not,” the woman said.
“We?” Deliah asked. She noticed there were people standing near the walls on both sides of her, watching them. But they were hidden in the shadows. The darkness seemed to grow from the walls. The shadows seemed to pulse like they were breathing. And with each breath, they drew closer to her.
“We,” the woman said. “We're not trying to find witches.”
“Then why … ?” Deliah blinked. She was so tired. A nap would be nice.
“We're looking for people who would accuse someone of being a witch,” the woman said. She laughed.
But it sounded to Deliah like a cackle. She tried to stand, but her legs had turned to thick, limp ropes. She tried to scream for help, but her tongue had become a useless scrap of cloth.
“We like it here,” the woman said. “And we plan to stay. Which means we need to get rid of dangerous, meddlesome people like you.”
Deliah was far too sleepy to listen anymore. She rested her head on the table, closed her eyes, and drifted off.
 
 
When Quinn reached Deliah's house the next morning, she was surprised to find the police there. Deliah was missing. The police asked Quinn what she and Deliah had done yesterday.
“Watched movies. Talked. That kind of stuff.” Quinn couldn't admit they'd thought about doing something as stupid and mean as a witch hunt. It had seemed fun for a moment or two, but last night, as she thought about it, she realized she wasn't the kind of girl to do that to someone. Not that it mattered. Deliah was right. There was no such thing as witches.
“I
'm warning you, Dennis, come inside right now,” his mother said as she stood by the open front door of their house.
“Just a second,” Dennis said without looking up. He was almost finished with the fort he was building for his toy soldiers. He just had to put a few more stones on one side and it would be perfect.
“Now,” his mom said.
“Coming.” Dennis started to stand up, but he kept placing stones, adding the last of them from a crouching position.
“One,” his mother said.
Dennis quickly added the final stone.
“Two.”
“All right! I'm coming.” Dennis stood and ran up to the porch. That had been close. His mother had almost reached three.
Dennis looked up at his mother and wondered what would have happened if he had let her finish counting.
The next day, he was still thinking about that when he was playing with his friends Lance and Trevor.
“What happens if your mom or dad reaches three?” Dennis asked.
“I don't know,” Lance said.
“Your mom ever get to three?” Dennis asked Trevor.
“Nope,” Trevor said. “I always tell myself I'm going to ignore her, but then I chicken out when she reaches two.”
“Yup, me, too,” Lance said.
“I'm going to do it,” Dennis said. “I'm going to find out.”
“No,” Lance said. “It's too dangerous. There's no telling what might happen.”
“I don't care. I'm going to find out.”
At that moment, Dennis heard the call from down the street. “Dennis. Lunchtime. Come home.”
“In a minute, Mom,” he called back. Then he sat on the ground and grinned at his friends.
“Dennis, I want you to come right now,” his mother called.
“Coming,” Dennis said, still sitting and still grinning.
“One.”
Dennis sat.
“Two.”
Dennis couldn't do it. He leaped to his feet and ran to his house. It was almost as if some force took control of his body. He couldn't fight the power of hearing his mom's count approach three.
He tried again the next day. And yet again the day after that. Each time, no matter how much he told himself he'd fight the call, Dennis was unable to resist the force that made him obey.
“You guys are just going to have to hold me back,” he told his friends the next day.
“What?” Lance asked.
“Hold me. When my mom starts counting, I want you to hold me until she reaches three.”
“I don't know,” Trevor said. “We could all get in trouble.”
“Come on,” Dennis said. “We have to find out. What's the worst that could happen?”
He kept arguing until his friends finally agreed to help. At dinnertime, when the call came, Dennis sat on the ground. Each of his friends knelt by his side and grabbed an arm.
“One,” his mom called.
Dennis sat, not yet feeling any urge to rise.
“Two,” his mom called.
Suddenly Dennis panicked. “Let me up,” he shouted at his friends. He struggled, trying to break free.
He couldn't get loose.
“THREE!”
The word swept down the street with the force of an ocean wave. Lance and Trevor suddenly let go of Dennis and stepped back. They both stared at him, as if wondering what was going to happen.
Behind him, Dennis heard a door slam. Across the street, he heard another door slam. Suddenly, all up and
down the block, doors slammed. People were leaving their houses. Moms and dads were walking out. As Dennis watched, dozens of parents walked from their houses and out into the street. Then they walked away. Without a word, they left.
Dennis saw his mom and dad. He ran after them, but they just kept walking. Finally, Dennis stopped chasing them. He just stood and watched them walk off.
Lance's mom was leaving, too. Trevor's mom and dad were also going. Lance and Trevor turned back toward Dennis.
“It's all your fault,” Lance said. “You ruined everything.”
“Yeah,” Trevor said. “Let's get him.”
Dennis took a step back. He opened his mouth to call for help. Then he shut it. There was no one to call, he realized. There was no help.

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