Wrong.
I'd sliced my dad's tie into four pieces.
“Oh, wow.” I stared at the pieces of tie in my hand.
Then I pictured my dad, as big as a truck, a bellowing bull when he was angry. When he saw what I'd done to his hat and tie, he'd…he'd …
I couldn't even think about it.
Trembling, I shoved the pieces of necktie under my bed next to the hat.
Quentin tried a few easy card tricks. The cards fell from his hands and scattered over the floor. He tried the trick where he waves his magic wand and it turns into a bouquet of flowers. It didn't work. The wand broke in two.
He shook his head. “Max, everything is messed up tonight. I can't figure out why.”
I could.
I knew what was happening. Nicky and Tara were messing up our tricks.
I gritted my teeth and balled my hands into fists. I felt so angry, I wanted to scream.
But no way could I tell Quentin about them.
Nicky and Tara were angry because they couldn't come to my party. So they were doing their best to mess up our magic act.
We tried a few more easy tricks, and they were ruined too. “It just isn't our night,” Quentin said. “Maybe we should try again tomorrow night.”
He left, shaking his head, very confused.
As soon as he was out the door, my two ghost friends appeared. “How's it going, Max?” Tara asked, grinning at me.
“You know how it's going,” I snapped.
“Did you have a bad night?” Nicky asked, acting innocent.
I realized I was grinding my teeth. I'd never been so angry at them. “You have no right to do that,” I shouted. “You have no right to ruin all our tricks.”
“I'll bet your tricks will go a lot better if you invite us to your party,” Tara said.
“For sure,” Nicky chimed in. “Invite us to your birthday party, and we'll be your best friends again.”
“No way!” I cried. “You're not my best friends. Quentin is my best friend. And stop begging me. No way are you coming to my party!”
They both put on these really hurt faces. Tara pulled off her hat, tossed it on the floor, and started stomping on it.
I turned away from them and walked to the window. I took deep breaths, trying to calm down. I didn't like being angry at them. They were two poor ghosts, after all. They probably wouldn't have any more birthdays—because they were dead.
But messing up our magic tricks like that was just plain mean.
I gazed out the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. A few stars twinkled dimly in the night sky. I lowered my eyes—and gasped when I saw the boy in black staring up at me.
He stood at the side of my yard, leaning against a tree trunk.
I pulled up the window, stuck my head out, and shouted down at him. “Go away! I'm warning you! Go away!”
He took a few steps closer to the house. Light from the kitchen downstairs washed over him, and I saw his face. An old man's face, lined and wrinkled and sagging.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and called up to me. “Be careful!”
Gripping the windowsill, I stared down at his ancient face, at his pale, sunken eyes. “What do you want?” I screamed. “Why are you doing this?”
“Be careful,” he said in a breathy rasp of a voice. “They are going to kill you. The ghosts are going to kill you!”
A chill ran down my back. I stepped away from the window. Shivering, I turned to Nicky and Tara.
“What did he mean?” I asked. “Why did he say that? Why did he say you ghosts are going to kill me?”
I saw the shock on Nicky's and Tara's faces.
And then they disappeared.
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eISBN: 978-0-307-49567-9
v3.0
R. L. Stine, Ghouls Gone Wild
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