Stinetinglers 3, page 10
“Your Highness.” Holding Nathan in front of him, Morgon did a short bow. “Why have you summoned me?”
“The banquet nears,” Harry said. “What magic have you made to delight and amaze Queen Freeda?”
Before Morgon could answer, the king’s eyes fell on Nathan, wrapped in Morgon’s hand. “What ho!” he cried. “A miniature boy!” He tossed back his head and let out a roar of laughter.
“Yes, Highness,” Morgon said. “I’ve used special sorcery to turn this boy into the size of a child’s doll.”
The king reached for Nathan and lifted him from Morgon’s hand. “A miracle. You have created a miracle, wizard.” He raised Nathan to his face. “What is your name, boy?”
“Nathan.” The word came out in a tiny squeak.
Harry tossed his head back and once again roared with laughter. He laughed so hard, his blond hair bounced and shook off his crown. It clattered over the floor.
Three squires stooped to pick it up for him.
The king poked Nathan’s forehead with a finger. “I can’t believe he’s real,” he said. He handed Nathan back to the wizard. “You have done well, Morgon. This living doll will amaze Queen Freeda and our guests. Your fame will spread across the kingdom.”
Morgon had a wide grin on his face as he carried Nathan back to his chambers. “You must stay small until after the banquet,” he said.
“No—” Nathan started. But Morgon pushed a finger over the boy’s tiny mouth.
“After I amaze the king’s guests, I shall return you to your normal height.” The wizard carried Nathan to the worktable and dropped him into a tall glass jar. Then he hurried out of the chamber.
Nathan stood in the jar with his face pressed against the glass for a long time. Then he decided what he had to do. I’m not going to wait for Morgon to make me big again. I can do it myself.
The side of the jar was slippery. But Nathan licked his hands wet, and they stuck to the glass as he climbed to the top. He slid one leg over the side of the jar and then the other. And then he dropped onto the worktable, landing lightly on his feet.
He scurried to the spell book. The book lay open. He climbed onto the yellowed pages. Then he dropped to his knees and leaned close so he could read the spells on the page.
Morgon had scratched a black X next to the spell he had been using. Nathan read the words of the spell silently in his mind.
I can do this.
The hard part was lifting Morgon’s wand. Nathan struggled to raise it off the table. But it felt heavy as a tree branch. Clenching his teeth and heaving with all his strength, he managed to raise the wand a few inches.
Then he shouted out the strange words on the page.
He felt a hard pop. The wand fell from his hands. He toppled onto his back. The room went black. A powerful current shot through his body.
Have I done it? Have I made myself ME again?
He opened his eyes and blinked a few times. Wait. Oh, wait. Did the wand and the spell book grow?
No.
No. No.
Nathan saw that he was smaller. No taller than a grasshopper. His spell had made him half the size!
Should I try again?
What if I completely disappear?
He heard voices in the outer chamber. He scampered closer, to the edge of the worktable.
Morgon was talking to someone. Nathan could hear his bold voice clearly. “I’m never going to make him tall again,” the wizard said. “I’m going to travel the kingdom and show off the little guy. It will make me famous forever. The boy will sacrifice himself to my greatness.”
The words froze Nathan. Chill after chill ran down his back.
What can I do? What can I do to save myself?
He darted back to the spell book. Climbed onto the open pages. And began to read frantically.
* * *
The banquet hall exploded with the roar of voices from the king’s guests. The aroma of roasted meats floated in the air along with the sweet perfume of many seated at the vast tables. The guests wore their finest robes and furs. Jeweled necklaces and bracelets sparkled at every table.
At the king’s table, Morgon held Nathan behind his back, ready to surprise and amaze the crowd. Queen Freeda sat beside King Harry. Both chatted pleasantly as they gnawed on legs of mutton.
Nathan’s heart fluttered in his chest. The wizard’s hand was wrapped around him tightly, nearly smothering him.
Finally, Harry rose and quieted the crowd. “My wizard Morgon will now dazzle and amaze you,” he announced.
Morgon stood up and waved his wand in the air. The vast room grew silent. “In honor of my king,” he shouted, “I have done something no wizard has ever done before!”
He swept his hand from behind his back. He opened it so that everyone could see Nathan standing on his palm.
“Behold!” Morgon cried. “Behold what I have done with my magic. I have created a tiny human being!”
The room erupted with oohs and aahs. Some people gasped. Some jumped to their feet to applaud and get a better look at tiny Nathan.
“No bigger than a bug!” Morgon declared, raising his hand high. “My magic has created the tiniest person in the world!”
More applause. More guests jumped to their feet.
Morgon had the wand raised in one hand, Nathan in the other.
Nathan took a deep breath. “Now!” he cried.
He leaped forward and grabbed the wand with both hands. Then he shouted a magic spell in his tiny voice.
Did I remember it right? Did I read it right?
A loud POP made people cry out in surprise.
The room shook. Nathan dropped from the wizard’s hand and began to grow. When he reached normal size, he grabbed the wand again and shouted more strange words he had memorized.
Another POP. Another long moment of the entire banquet hall shaking. More cries and gasps.
Nathan watched Morgon shrink. Smaller … smaller …
A few seconds was all it took. And Morgon hopped on the table, croaking furiously.
A frog! Nathan’s spell had worked. He had turned the wizard into a frog!
King Harry’s laughter boomed over the gasps and cries of surprise that rang out across the banquet hall. The king slapped Nathan on the back. “Wonderful! Wonderful magic!” he cried. “What a triumph! Young man, you will be my wizard from now on!”
“Oh, thank you, sire,” Nathan said. A wave of excitement ran up and down his body.
He picked up the wand. His hand slipped—and he accidentally bumped the king with it.
“Rebeep. Rebeep.” King Harry uttered startled croaks as he hopped on the tabletop. A frog. Nathan had turned His Royal Highness into a frog.
Nathan stared at the two frogs on the table.
“Oops,” he said.
I’M NOT BECKA
Why do I write so many stories about people trading bodies with someone else?
I can’t answer that question.
I know it would be frightening to be outside your body. And what if you couldn’t get back in?
I wanted this story to be really scary, scarier than other stories about people who switch bodies.
So I asked myself: What would happen if you traded bodies with a dead person?
And that’s how this story got started.
The Glyvendale cemetery is a block from my house. Kylie and I go there all the time.
Maybe you’ve seen the two-minute horror videos she and I do. We have a lot of followers. People keep asking if we’re going to do any longer stories. But we like keeping them short and sweet.
I’ve been working on a script called Hyde and Shriek. The problem is, when I get really into it, I scare myself, and I have to stop.
Kylie laughs at me because I like horror, but it scares me at the same time. She says, “Greta, maybe we should do dance videos like everyone else.”
She knows that will never happen.
Sometimes she and I try some of the dances we see in the videos. Kylie is light and graceful and has real rhythm. I look like Otto, my French bulldog, trying to wobble after a tennis ball.
So we’re sticking to scary stuff. Tonight, I spent an hour on Kylie’s zombie makeup. I brushed deep black spots on the sides of her face to make it look like skin is missing. Black circles around her eyes to create empty sockets. And a thick line of dark blood over her lips and down her chin.
I swept her hair up and twisted it to make it look scraggly. When we get to the cemetery, I’m going to use dirt to make her hair look even more gross.
I found one of Dad’s old bowling shirts in his closet. We both ripped it nearly to shreds, and I covered the front in disgusting brown stains. “Getting scary,” Kylie said, pulling the shirt around her shoulders.
I have some rubber worms I’m going to curl over Kylie’s ears when we get to the shoot. And maybe one poking out from her nose.
Did I mention she’s going to be a zombie crawling up from behind a gravestone?
Getting us dressed for our videos is one of my favorite things. I’m really into fashion and wild outfits and fun clothes. And I love doing the makeup, too. I think I want to be a costume designer someday. Or maybe a horror-movie makeup artist.
In tonight’s video, I play an innocent bystander who is strolling through the cemetery. I stand with my back to the gravestone, and I don’t see Kylie the zombie climb out from under the ground.
We have frightening suspense as she slowly … slowly … creeps up behind me. You think she’s about to attack. But instead, she asks if she can borrow my phone. She says she has a lot of texts to answer since she’s been dead.
I think it’s pretty funny. All of our videos have twist endings like that.
Our friend Kenji is supposed to meet us to record the part where Kylie and I are both in the scene. He said he’d try to come after he finishes his homework.
While we wait for him, I’ll do the close-up of Kylie climbing out from her grave. I want to try takes from different angles to see which is the scariest.
I pulled my phone from the charger and tucked it into my jeans pocket. Kylie grabbed her jacket and we made our way to the front door.
Dad sat on the couch, staring at his phone. Otto was sprawled flat on his stomach at Dad’s feet. “Greta, are you going out? Want to take Otto?” he asked.
“We’re going to the cemetery,” I told him.
“Another video? Take Otto. He loves the cemetery.”
Otto raised his head for two seconds, then lowered it back to the floor.
“We can’t use him in a horror video,” I said. “He’s too comical-looking.”
Kylie laughed. “Look at him. He’s already The Living Dead!”
I pulled open the front door and hurried outside before Dad could argue more. Kylie and I stepped out into a dark, windy night. I raised my eyes to the moon, but I couldn’t find it. It took me a minute to realize it was hidden behind swirling wisps of fog.
We get a lot of fog in Glyvendale Heights. It starts over Lake Chincoteague, and sometimes the wind carries it like waves of thick smoke over the entire town.
Dad usually gets a fog alert on his phone. I was surprised he didn’t warn us about it tonight.
Kylie shivered and pulled her jacket tighter. “How perfect is this? The fog will look awesome in the graveyard.”
I began to walk quickly, eager to get there. Somewhere down the block, a dog howled. “Sound effects,” I said.
“I hope Kenji can get away early,” Kylie said, jogging to keep up with me. “It’s going to be a cold night.”
“We have to be careful that your breath doesn’t steam up in front of you,” I said. “A zombie wouldn’t have breath.”
“I’ll try not to breathe,” Kylie said. We both laughed.
The fog billowed around us as we walked. I brushed droplets of cold water off my face. A burst of wind sent a metal trash can clattering down a driveway.
We crossed the street to the cemetery. Tall streetlamps sent a pale glow over the rows of old gravestones. The wire gate at the entrance was broken. It tilted open, the bottom stuck in the dirt.
Kylie and I turned and started to follow a path to the right. Thick weeds had overgrown some of the tombstones. Some of the really old ones were cracked or had fallen down.
We knew where we were going. We had used the same gravestone in several videos.
It stood on top of a low dirt hill. That made it great for videoing. I could stand at the bottom of the hill and tilt the phone up at the gravestone. It gave the shot an awesome horror-movie angle.
The wind rattled dead leaves at our feet. A burst of fog swirled past like a speeding bus. In the dim light from the street, the tombstone on the low hill came into view.
Kylie gazed all around. “Is the fog getting thicker?” she asked. “We may not be able to see anything at all.”
I patted her shoulder. “No worries. I’ve got this.”
I helped her pull off her jacket so we could see the ragged, stained zombie shirt. We draped the jacket over a gravestone in the row behind us.
“Let’s muddy you up,” I said. I lifted a handful of dirt, surprised at how damp and cold it felt. Kylie shut her eyes and I smeared her face with it. Then I raked my fingers down her long hair, making it look more scraggly.
I took a step back and admired my work. “Kylie, you’ve never looked better!” I exclaimed.
She shivered. “Greta, this fog…” she started. “The way it moves so fast, swirling and twisting … I … I keep having this strange feeling like it’s alive!”
“Awesome idea for a horror video,” I said. “Seriously. We should plan one for the next foggy night.”
Kylie shivered again. “Are we ready?”
I nodded. “Go get behind the stone. Remember, you’ve pulled yourself up from the dirt. Go slow. Take time to show you’re not used to being in the world.”
Kylie started to scramble up the hill. She slipped, sending dirt tumbling behind her. When she reached the top, she grabbed the top of the stone and turned back to me.
“Greta,” she called. Her voice was muffled in the swirling wind. “The fog—it’s so thick. I can barely see you.”
I squinted up at her. The fog moved so fast, Kylie seemed to fade in and out. “You look very ghostly,” I shouted. “This is going to look awesome. Unless the fog gets even thicker.”
“Let’s start.” Kylie ducked behind the gravestone.
I raised my phone and aimed up the hill. “Wave your hand so I can focus on you,” I called up to her.
She stuck a hand out from behind the stone.
I could see the lens struggling to lock on her. Too dark?
I clicked the phone light on. The light bounced off the fog and didn’t reach the hill. I clicked it off.
A thick fog cloud rolled around me, as if trying to trap me inside.
“Kylie, this isn’t working,” I shouted over the wind. “Should we wait a little and see if the fog lifts? Or should we try again tomorrow night?”
I didn’t hear her reply.
“Kylie? Should we wait a short while?” I repeated.
Did she answer me? I didn’t hear her. Was her voice drowned out behind the wind and thick fog?
I raised my phone again and gazed at the screen. Nothing. Too dark.
“Kylie—” I started to call to her again. But I stopped when I saw her coming down the hill.
I tucked my phone into my pocket and watched her through curling snakes of fog. She appeared to stagger, as if she couldn’t keep her balance.
And as she came closer …
… As she came closer …
… I stared in shock at her loose white skirt dragging along the ground. Her dress … stained and tattered and sleeveless. Her dress? Dress?
Closer she staggered. And the bald patch on her head came into clear view. The missing skin at her throat. The open, toothless mouth. One eye sunken deep in its socket.
“NOOOO!” A hoarse scream escaped my throat. I stumbled back from the hill.
“Who are you?” I screamed. “Who are you?”
And then I raised my eyes to the top of the hill. “Kylie? Kylie?” I cried in a tight, shrill voice. “Kylie? Are you okay?”
The terrifying girl staggered toward me. She brushed clumps of dirt off the front of her dress. Then she raised both arms toward me. And I saw the missing skin on one arm. Just bone. The arm was bone. And the fingers on one hand … just bone.
“No. Nooo. Please…” I choked out.
Why didn’t I run? I was too shocked. Too frightened. Panic. Total panic staring at this one-eyed girl with the hole in her scalp and the skin rotting off her bones.
She grabbed me.
Her fingers tightened around my wrist.
I felt my knees start to fold.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t cry out.
Her fingers were so hard, so cold. She brought her face close to mine, and I could smell the dirt of her grave … smell the rot of her skin. Her eye seemed to swim deep in its socket. Her hair stood straight out, whipping in the wind.
Gasping for breath, I swiped my hand away from her.
Her mouth dropped open and again I saw the toothless gums.
“Wh-who are you?” I managed to stammer. “Kylie? Where’s Kylie?”
Her good eye blinked at me. “I’m Becka,” she said. Her voice was rattly, like she had dry leaves in her throat. “I’m Becka. What’s your name?”
“Greta.” I stared at her, my whole body trembling. My mind was spinning so fast, I felt dizzy.
I like horror—but not when it’s REAL!
“I’ve been down there so long, Greta,” Becka said. “The air up here … it smells so sweet.”
She took deep breaths that rattled in her throat.
I saw that she was barefoot, her bony feet caked with dirt.
“Where’s Kylie?” I demanded. “Where is my friend?”
Her eye blinked again. She brushed back her hair with bony fingers. “Your friend? I don’t know your friend.”
“Did you see her?” I asked. I turned to the hill and shouted again. “Kylie? Kylie?”
