The Boy Who Ate Fear Street (8 page)

“H
ey! What's going on?” I cried, kicking my arms and legs.

“Hold still, Sam,” Lissa demanded. “It's just my jacket over your head. It's the only way we could get you to stop.”

I touched the top of my head, feeling for Lissa's jacket. Yes, that's what it was. She was telling the truth.

Kevin and Lissa guided me down the sidewalk, block after block, with Lissa's jacket over my head.

“Are you okay in there, Sam?” Lissa asked.

“No. I am not okay. Take this thing off my head! Now!”

“I don't think we should, Sam,” Kevin said. “If we do, we'll lose control over you. Sorry.”

I guess I couldn't blame them.

“It's okay,” I said. “Anyway, with this jacket over my head I don't feel like eating dirt anymore. I guess if I can't see it, I don't want to eat it.”

I couldn't wait to get to the Sullivans' house. I needed a drink of water badly—to wash away the horrible, sour-worm-juice taste in my mouth.

Worm juice.

Ugh.

I can't believe I bit into a worm.

We have to find a clue in Aunt Sylvie's room,
I prayed.
We have to!

“Okay, Sam!” Lissa whisked the jacket from my head. I blinked in the bright light of the Sullivans' hallway.

I caught my reflection in the hall mirror. My hair was matted with mud. Dirt streaked across my cheeks, my nose, my lips. What a mess!

“Anybody home?” Kevin called out.

“What are you doing?” I clamped my dirty hand over his mouth. “I told you—I don't want Aunt Sylvie to know I'm here.”

Kevin yanked my hand away. “Hey, relax. I just wanted to make sure she was gone, that's all.”

Aunt Sylvie didn't answer.

No one did.

“Come on.” Kevin motioned us toward the steps. “Let's go up to Aunt Sylvie's room.”

Aunt Sylvie's room was exactly as I remembered it. The mat where she slept rested in the middle of the floor. The ancient wooden medicine mask and the Indian dream catcher still hung on the wall. Crystals in every hue and tint lined the dresser.

“Where should we look first?” I asked.

“The books,” Kevin suggested. “Maybe that's where we'll find out what happened to you.”

I gazed around the room. “I don't see any books.”

“In here,” Kevin said, opening the door to Aunt Sylvie's closet.

Kevin snapped on the closet light. Rows and rows of bookshelves lined the closet walls.

I grabbed a few books from a shelf. “Come on, let's start reading.” I handed one book to Kevin and one to Lissa. “Maybe we can find the black-flake curse in one of these.”

Kevin read the title of his book.
“You Don't Have to Whisper
—
How to Talk to the Dead.”

Then Lissa read hers.
“Herbs and Berries.”

Mine said
The Magic of Spices.
“Hey! I bet I can find out what's wrong with me in this one!” I exclaimed.

I eagerly flipped through the pages. But all I found were recipes for one kind of ailment or another. Nagging backache, clogged sinuses, hacking cough. You name it, this book had a cure for it.

I knew I wouldn't find what I was looking for in there. The book explained how to make people better—not what made people sick.

Kevin and Lissa searched through the bookshelves. “Do you see any books on poisons?” I asked.

“Not yet,” Lissa called out.

“Well, keep looking!” I pleaded.

I wandered around the room searching for a clue.

I gazed up at the wooden mask.

A medicine mask from an ancient mountain tribe.

I remembered what Kevin and Lissa had told me about it. They said it was supposed to drive germs right out of a sick person's body.

But how did it work? Did the sick person wear it? Or did a witch doctor have to wear it and say some weird chant?

I didn't know—but I decided to try it. Maybe it could help me.

I carefully lifted the mask from the wall.

I slipped it over my face—and waited.

I could see out of the eyeholes. And I was breathing through a hole for the mouth.

I didn't feel any different.

With the mask over my face, I continued to roam around the room. I ran my fingers over the dream catcher's feathers, over Aunt Sylvie's crystals, over a jar of face cream that sat on the dresser.

I unscrewed the lid and dipped my fingers into the pure white cream. Then I licked my fingers.

Mmmm. So smooth. So good.

I scooped out a bigger glob and ate that.

“Ahhhh!” Lissa screamed.

Kevin whirled around to face me. “It's just Sam wearing a mask, Lissa. Get a grip.”

“It's not the mask, you jerk,” she yelled. “He's eating Aunt Sylvie's face cream.”

Lissa and Kevin threw the coat over my head. “Let's get him out of here before he finishes the jar,” Kevin said.

They dragged me from Aunt Sylvie's room. They pulled me along the hall and down the stairs. When they reached the kitchen, they let me go.

I threw the coat off.

“Aunt Sylvie's going to be mad now,” Kevin said. “Very mad.”

“Yeah,” Lissa agreed. “That cream is two hundred years old. She told us it contains ancient powers for long-lasting beauty. And it was her last jar.”

“Her only jar,” Kevin corrected his sister.

“How can you worry about her jar of face
cream?” I yelled. “Your aunt is evil. She put a curse on me!”

But Lissa wasn't listening. She gazed over my shoulder—at something out the back door.

I turned and scanned the garden.

Flowers, trees, shrubs, a wooden bench.

Then I saw her. Aunt Sylvie.

Lissa grabbed my hand. “You have to tell Aunt Sylvie what's going on. She can help you!” she pleaded.

“NO!” I declared. “Never.”

Lissa and Kevin dragged me out the back door—and I gasped.

Aunt Sylvie sat on the ground, cross-legged, with her eyes closed.

Six black snakes slithered around her neck, her arms, her legs.

I watched in horror as they twisted along her body, their long, pointed tongues darting in and out.

Aunt Sylvie swayed back and forth, in a deep trance.

“Ondu . . . ondu . . . ondu,” she chanted.

She waved her hands over a big iron kettle that bubbled over with a dark brown liquid.

Then she lifted a wooden mask from the ground. A mask with black lips twisted into a sickening leer. She placed it over her face.

“She's a witch doctor!” I cried.

“Aunt—Aunt Sylvie,” Lissa stammered. “Are you a witch doctor?”

Aunt Sylvie slowly removed the mask from her face.

Her eyes fluttered open.

She leveled a steady gaze at us.

“Yes, dear, I am.”

A
unt Sylvie slowly rose to her feet—as though some strange power we couldn't see lifted her up. Singing softly to her snakes, she swayed back and forth on her heels.

The snakes around her arms slithered across her body.

Aunt Sylvie gently stroked them. “Odru kan toka,” she crooned to them.

The snake around her neck waved its head in the air. Its tongue darted in and out. Aunt Sylvie kissed the top of its head.

“Odum ruba kantan,” she chanted softly. “Odum ruba kantan haroo.”

“Wh-what are you saying?” Lissa stammered.

“Shhhh!” Aunt Sylvie whispered, placing a finger on her lips. “You'll break the spell.”

Aunt Sylvie carefully unwrapped the snakes from her arms and legs and set them down in a tank behind her. The snake around her neck remained coiled around her neck.

“Okay, children.” She turned toward us. “Now you can ask your questions.”

“Wh-what language were you speaking?” Kevin asked.

“The language of all witch doctors.” Aunt Sylvie smiled and kissed the snake on the top of its head once more.

Then she moved toward me slowly.

“Sam, would you like to meet Rabia Wan?” she asked, petting the snake. “I don't believe you've met her yet.”

Aunt Sylvie walked closer to me. Closer. Until she stood only inches away.

The she grabbed the snake—and thrust it into my face. Its fanged tongue darted out, barely missing my cheek.

I leaped away and screamed.

“I see you're still a bit nervous, Sam.” Aunt Sylvie laughed. “Are your hands still shaking? Perhaps I need to say another chant.”

“Don't touch me!” I backed away. “Don't come near me!”

“Are you really a witch doctor?” Lissa asked.

“Of course I'm not a witch doctor.” Aunt Sylvie laughed louder this time. “But the tribe I lived with in Brazil thought I was. They loved my snake-charming act. Too bad Sam doesn't. Sorry if I frightened you, Sam.”

“That's just an act?” Kevin asked. “It's not real?”

“Oh, anyone can learn how to do it.” Aunt Sylvie dropped the snake around her neck into the tank. “The most wonderful snake charmer in Ceylon taught me—with these six little beauties. They're perfectly harmless.”

“See, Sam!” Kevin turned toward me. “Aunt Sylvie is
not
a witch doctor. She did
not
put a curse on you!”

“Sam!” Aunt Sylvie exclaimed. “Did you really think I put a curse on you? How could you have imagined such a thing?”

“You—you did put a curse on me,” I choked out. “I know it! You put a horrible curse on me with those little black flakes.”

“Little black flakes?” Aunt Sylvie pretended she didn't know what I was talking about.

“Yes! The black flakes you hid in my rice pudding!”
I told her. “Ever since I ate them, I can't eat white food anymore. It tastes terrible. Everything tastes terrible to me—except worms and fleas and dirt—”

“Sam,” Aunt Sylvie interrupted, “why would I want you to eat dirt?”

“Because you're crazy—because you don't like picky eaters!” I shouted.

“That's nonsense!” Aunt Sylvie shook her head. “But maybe I know a cure for this. Let me think. Let me think.”

“Stay away from me!” I yelled. “I know what you're going to do. You're going to say another one of your evil chants so I won't be able to speak. So I won't be able to tell anyone what you did to me!”

Aunt Sylvie shook her head. “Poor Sam,” she said. “You can speak all you want, dear. I'm afraid no one could possibly believe a word you're saying.”

“Can you help Sam?” Lissa asked Aunt Sylvie. “Do you have any idea what's wrong with him?”

“Well, he might have an allergy. I've seen allergies cause very odd symptoms. Or perhaps he's suffering from a virus.” Aunt Sylvie turned to me. “You really should see a doctor, Sam. It's not wise to let this continue any longer. Who knows what could happen next?”

I ran from the Sullivans' house. I ran as fast as I could—before Aunt Sylvie could cast any more of her evil magic.

As I raced around the corner to my block, I slowed down.

I had to.

Something was wrong with my feet—they tingled all over. I walked a few steps—and felt the tingling in my hands too.

I stared down at my fingers—and gasped.

My fingers were swelling. I watched in horror as they grew wider and wider.

I walked faster now.

The tingling spread to my wrists and arms.

My arms began to bulge larger and larger.

They strained against my shirt.

I heard a loud rip as they tore through my sleeves—tore them to shreds.

“Help!” I cried out. “Someone, help me! It's spreading. The curse is spreading!”

I
crawled toward my front door.

The seams of my pants and sneakers split against the weight of my legs and feet. My enormous legs and feet.

“Mom! Dad! Help me, please!” I collapsed at the front door, gasping for breath.