Midnight Games(2)

And now here it is, a cold November night, a tiny crescent moon high in the sky, and I creep out the back door of my house, eager to see my friends.

The wind is blowing the trees, making them shake and rattle. They are dark, trembling shapes behind a curtain of fog.

I have had the nightmare again. This time, a girl was wearing the pendant. I couldn’t see her face, but I could hear her whispered words: “Kill again . . . kill again!”

I don’t think I screamed. But I woke up in a cold sweat. Stood up in a blue haze, as if the pendant were in the room, the glowing blue light floating all around me.

“Kill again!”

So unfair. I didn’t kill anyone. Why can’t I lose the frightening dreams?

I trot down the driveway to the street, squinting into the low swirls of fog. And I feel the fog inside and out, as if I’m part of it. Not real at all. But smoke floating through smoke.

Whoa. Nate, get a grip, dude.

Don’t totally lose it now.

I lower my head and jog a couple of blocks. Nights Bar is just a few blocks farther. No people in sight, but everything is in motion. The wind bends the grass and sends pebbles dancing along the street.

The fog grows thicker as I turn the corner. I slow to a walk, breathing hard. My breath fogs up in front of me. Fog everywhere.

Candy Shutt’s house is on the next block.

I stop. A chill shakes my body. I don’t want to go past her house tonight.

The nightmare repeats in my mind, playing out in the fog. I see Candy’s dead body, eyes staring blankly up at me.

Why me?

I spin around and start in the other direction. I’ll walk through the woods, I decide.

The Fear Street Woods.

The bar is on the other side of the trees, on Fear Street. Actually, Nights stands on the very spot where the Fear Mansion stood.

They tore down the mansion last year. It was a burned-out wreck, anyway. They tore down all the old houses on Fear Street and built a shopping center: Fear Street Acres.

So the street isn’t scary anymore. It’s filled with cars and bikes and shoppers all day. The Curse of Fear Street is over. At least, that’s what they said on all the TV news shows.

I wish I could believe it.

A wall of fog rises up in front of the trees. As if trying to keep me from entering the woods. The trees are old and tangled and tilting one way and the other. But their leaves have fallen, and I can see lights on the other side. The lights of the shopping center.

My shoes crunch on the frosty ground. Dead leaves crackle as I walk along a twisting path. The trees rattle and sigh. I hear an animal scamper through the low shrubs at my right.

I’m about halfway through the stretch of trees. The woods are narrow here. Wisps of fog float in front of me. I trip over a fallen branch and stagger forward to catch my balance.

I brush away a clump of tall reeds and start to walk again. The path has disappeared, but I can see the lights glowing hazily beyond the trees.

I start to walk faster—then I stop. I stop when I hear the hoarse caw of a bird. High over my head.

I stop. Another chill tightens the back of my neck.

Everyone knows there are no birds in the Fear Street Woods.

That’s one of the mysteries of the place.

I raise my eyes to the dark, shivering tree branches. I squint from tree to tree. No sign of it.

Another caw—raspy, angry.

And then I see it. A huge blackbird, hunched on a low branch right over my head.

Pale moonlight ripples down through the fog. The light appears to burn the fog away. And, suddenly, I can see the bird clearly.

Its long wings are tucked back, so it appears to be wearing a black cape. I see its long talons curled around the branch. I see its curled bill.

It stares at me with a bright, blue eye. Then the bird tilts its head, and I see the other eye. Black? No. An empty socket. Just a dark hole where the eye should be.

I take a stumbling step back.

Why does it stare at me so intently?

We have a short staring match. The blue eye peering down at me, locked on my eyes.

And then the ugly, one-eyed bird raises its head. It lets out a terrifying cry—a high scream that echoes off the bare trees.

Before I can move, it dives off the branch and swoops down at me, pointed talons raised to attack, screeching in fury.





3

The big blackbird lands heavily. I let out a startled cry as its talons dig into the shoulders of my coat.

It beats its heavy wings against my face. It opens its bill in another screech.

I stumble back against a tree. I raise both hands to protect myself.

Its talons dig deeper into my shoulders. I feel the sharp point of its bill scrape the side of my face. The wings pound harder.

I swing my arms. Grab frantically at its fat body. My hands slide off the coarse feathers.

“Owww!” I scream in pain as the bird lowers its bill to my face. Pecks at my eyes.