Night At Murder Mansion, a Goosebumps-themed novel

It is finished!

Yes, the Goosebumps-themed novel is finally finished!

I was intending to post this in the Advanced Critques forum, but my novel is a few words short the word minimum. What can I say? It's a short novel.

Instead of posting the latest and final addition on a sepeate topic, I thought I'd place it here with the rest of the story. That way, you can read the whole thing straight here!

If you've followed me from the start, you should know the background: this is my little brother's plot , characters and ideas, and my writing. If you want the full info, check the Night At Murder Mansion, part 1 topic.

I even designed a front cover! B) The title is wrong on the image, because it was made before we decided on the title.

Haha, and yes, that's my brother on there. He's so proud that he looked corny and scared at the same time.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

HERE IT IS:

1

I really didn’t want to change schools. Or move cities, for that matter. But there I was, in the backseat of our SUV, with cardboard boxes crammed into every available space. My mum, who was driving, was blabbering on about some of the buildings and monuments that were rushing past my window. I wasn’t paying much attention.

“And there you can see Black House, a very popular tourist attraction just out…”

“Are we there yet?” I asked, stopping my mum in mid-sentence.

“Uh…well, no, Max, dear,” she said, taken aback, “Another five minutes, I think, according to my map here.”

I looked in her rear-view mirror and saw she was upset with me.

I resemble my mother quite a lot. We both have thick, dark, chestnut hair, piercing blue eyes and freckles. When mum jokes around she always tells me she can imagine me with a bone in my nose, looking like a caveman. Her jokes are funny, but a little bit insulting. Cavemen are stereotypically short, and I tower over her.

“Cool,” was my answer, and I pulled out my music player from my jeans pocket. I plugged my headphones in and turned the volume up loud, drowning out the sound of my mother’s voice.

The basis upon which my life exists: I never listen to my mother.

A few minutes later my mum announced loudly, so I could hear over my music, that we had at last arrived in Bulligong.

The headphones snapped out of my ears as I hurriedly craned my neck to see what my new town looked like.

The town seemed a century old, at the least. Most of the homes were petite, with cream-coloured picket fences and blooming rainbow flower beds. The oak trees on their evergreen lawns and the rocking chairs resting on the veranda swung back and forth with the breeze. There was no games arcade, no takeaway stores, not even a set of traffic lights. I was a little disappointed.

I sulked and ducked my head back down again. I was a city kid, not a town boy. Everything here seemed so… peaceful.

Which was probably a good thing for my mother. She seriously needed somewhere she could take a break from reality for awhile, to get her mind off the divorce and grandpa’s death.

Now that I thought about it, I should’ve listened to her speech about this part of the world. I guessed it didn’t hit me till now.

The reason we were moving to the remote town was because grandpa left a house here to us in his will. It gave mum an opportunity to get a job here and leave our old city and life behind.

My hands fumbled for the black skull necklace I was wearing. It was a birthday present from grandpa a couple of years ago. I haven’t taken it off since. Not even when the bullies back at my previous school tried to snatch it from me. They stopped that, though, when I became the champion at spitting.

Yeah, you heard me right. Spit champ. We used to see how far we could expel saliva behind the teacher’s back. I kept winning, so, naturally, everyone started to like me.

“…And I enrolled you at the primary here, so you’ll help me unpack some gear today and tomorrow you can ride your bike to school with this map here,” said mum, an informative tone to her voice.

Woah. I hadn’t even realised she was speaking to me.

“Do I have to go to school already, mum?” I pleaded with her, my eyes rolling dramatically.

“Would you rather go to school or do chores?”

She had a very good point.

The car slowed to a complete stop and mum turned the engine off, yanking out the keys. I didn’t need her telling me we had arrived at our new house to know we were there at last.

2

Without direction, without purpose, I found myself walking.

I waltzed right out of my new bedroom. I passed all the boxes on the floor. Somehow, I managed to not bump against a single one.

My hand reached for the front door, and I opened it, strolling right out into the crisp, fresh night air.

I kept walking. Past my mum’s SUV, past the delivery van parked on our lawn.

The moon was a full one, and it illuminated the footpath. Where I was headed was a mystery. All I knew was that I had to keep walking.

Soon I approached a twisted, black iron fence. It enclosed something I couldn’t see.

I was compelled to this place, because I knew, as I got closer, that this was my destination.

The gate swung open at my slightest touch.

Now I entered a dense fog, of which I couldn’t make out anything. Even the gate had disappeared behind me. Where was I?

A choir of singers were now calling out my name… several of them humming it in a raspy tone. “…Max…Max…” they spoke. I was awfully confused. They sounded like the static when tuning an old radio.

I surveyed the scene. Where was everyone? All I could see for miles and miles was darkness and fog… wait, that was a lie!

A black, spooky fortress appeared as the mist cleared in front of me. It was stories high, with torrents of towers and arched windows. A howling wind swept the fallen, withered leaves from the dead trees on the lawn all the way to me. A leaf landed in my hand and I crushed it with my fingers. The dust-sized pieces were carried away by blasting air.

I was curious about this ancient castle. Why was it here? It was scary enough to send chills down my spine, but not quite horrifying enough for me to run away.

It was like a puppeteer with his marionette, and I was the unfortunate marionette. I had no control over my actions. I felt my foot crunch against the gravel path.

At once, a shrill scream pierced the choir singing. I covered my ears to block the noise.

The screaming grew louder. It was coming from the castle.

As I focused on the fortress, a spotlight of bright green light beamed from the up most, and biggest, window. I squinted my eyes. The shrieking continued to get louder until it was deafening.

Petrified, I shouted out a plea for help, but I couldn’t hear my own voice. I couldn’t move. The puppeteer had me frozen.

The front door slowly creaked open.

A green, elastic, ghostly hand darted out and grabbed my neck, strangling me...

3

“AAAAAHHH!” I screamed as I sat up, drenched in sweat.

My eyes whizzed around frantically, looking for the hand.

No hand. No shrieking. No castle.

Just my new bedroom, cluttered with cardboard boxes, and myself, lying in bed, stuffy.

It was just a nightmare, Max, I assured myself, Go back to sleep.

Easier said than done, it turned out.

It took several hours for me to sleep again. I tossed about, fruitlessly trying to empty my mind. It was just so difficult to picture anything but the disturbing, frightening images from my horrific dream.

When morning arrived and my alarm bell drilled through my brain, I hadn’t had much rest. I stifled a yawn at the breakfast table so my mum wouldn’t see I was tired. There was not much point in her fussing over me.

I finished getting ready for school, so I worked on my bike. I was checking the chains for a tangle when my mum approached me, an object hidden in her hands.

“Max! There you are! I needed to give you this.” She shoved a folded map into my chest. I grabbed it and opened it up, studying its features.

For a tiny map its size, it was complexly detailed. It displayed every footpath, house and street. It was a little challenging to find my school’s location.

“Hey, Mum? You don’t happen to have a pencil on you, do you?” I asked. I was planning to circle my school on the map so I wouldn’t have trouble finding it again.

“Hang on, dear; I’ll go fetch one for you.” She dashed back inside quickly and emerged with a marker.

“Thanks Mum,” I said gratefully. I drew a large oval around my school and a line through the roads leading to it. I showed her this, and she grinned.

“Now I won’t have to worry about you getting lost,” she joked, but I could tell by her expression she was concerned. I have quite a knack for losing my way.

Minutes later, a heavy bag on my back, I was pedalling as fast as I possibly could down the concrete footpath. I’d forgotten to brush my teeth and now I was running late. I hoped my new teacher wouldn’t mind.

Turning the street corner, I could see what appeared to be a rundown hall. At first, I was in disbelief. This was where the school was located? Then I groaned as the realisation slapped me in the face. An ancient, rusted signpost read ‘Bulligong Primary. Teaching excellence since 1879.’

What, oh what did I do to deserve ending up in a place like this?

No, I scolded myself silently, I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. I made up my mind to give it a chance.

4

All I could see were the faces of angry, annoyed kids my age staring at me. It was like my presence deeply disturbed them. I suddenly felt very hot. I pretended not to notice.

The lady at the school office had showed me to my classroom. She had rapped on one of the white-washed doors.

And that was another thing. The school might have come across as ancient as my great-grandma, but its insides were jazzed up to be almost bearable.

A balding, bony man wearing tiny spectacles and a suit had answered the door. His badge read ‘Mr. Hopkins’. He told the clerk (once she explained why I was late) “I’ll take it from here.” And with one skeletal, withered hand, he had clutched my shoulder and led me into the classroom.

So here I was, feeling extremely embarrassed, as Mr. Hopkins introduced me to the class.

“This is Max Henderson, everybody, I hope you make him feel welcome.”

The cold, icy stares pretty much gave me an impression that I wasn’t going to get a warm welcome.

“So, Max, do you want to tell us a bit about yourself?”

I shook my head violently.

“Come on Max, no need, no need to be shy! We’re all friends here.”

I seriously doubted that.

“Um,” was the word that escaped my lips. I hated public speaking. I focused on the wall behind the rows of students so I could pretend they weren’t glaring at me.

“I moved here from the city,” I managed to mumble.

“That’s fantastic, Max!” beamed Mr. Hopkins. I was amazed that someone so elderly could be so energetic and positive. “Any reason why? You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.”

I felt it oddly rude for a teacher to ask such a thing. Hadn’t he heard of privacy? But I thought about it harder, and a sudden idea made up my decision to answer his stupid question.

“Uh—yeah. My grandpa, Ronald Grim, died a few weeks ago.”

It was a pretty small town, right? So there was bound to be somebody in this class that knew my pop or, at least, someone in that family might.

And to my absolute joy, a boy in the back row flashed me a thumbs up. Success!

“Wow. I’m really, really, sorry to hear that,” said Mr. Hopkins, with a comical grimace. “Err—well, you might as well take a seat. Oh look, that jolly boy over there is calling for you to sit next to him. Why don't you sit over there,” he pointed to a chair next to the boy, “and then we can get started?”

I was glad to be rid of Mr. Hopkins. He was acting, to a point, unbelievably creepy, and it made me question if it was just a façade or a figment of my vivid imagination, heightened in such an uncomfortable moment.

I made my way through the angry faces. I wasn't bothered as much as I was before about their treatment of me: It seemed the discovery of a friendly face bought fresh hope to my low confidence.

“Hi.”

“’G’day, Max,” the boy responded in a strong Australian accent, as I took the available seat beside him.

“So… what’s your name?”

“My name? Well, my name is Evil.”

PART TWO

5

“Evil?” I said, dumbfounded.

“Yes, Evil,” he repeated.

“Are you serious?” I laughed, but my awkward amusement stopped abruptly at the angry expression on his face. “Uh... I’m sorry; I’m just having a hard time believing—” Evil sighed and gave a small smile. I let out a sigh, too.

“That’s okay, Max. No-one believes that that’s my name at first.”

I chuckled a little and stared at the blackboard, trying to look like I hadn’t made it a big deal. Mr. Hopkins was writing something on BODMAS, which was grand- we had covered that subject last term. Not wanting to look nerdy, I slowly and casually raised my hand in the air and leaned back on the seat.

“Mr. Hopkins?” I said, “I covered this subject at my old school.”

“What the hell are you doin’?” whispered Evil suddenly beside me. He looked pedantic. “Don’t get him to turn around! He’ll see we haven’t done any work!”

“W…what?”

Sure enough, as I took a peek at everyone, they were having elaborate, hushed conversations, savouring the lack of notice given by their teacher. There wasn’t even a page open in anyone’s books. But it was too late: Mr. Hopkins dropped his chalk and revolved around on the spot.

“Well, Max, you can-,” he started, but quickly realised the poor attention he was receiving, “-wait a minute, class, where are your books?” he spluttered, scandalized. “Why hasn’t anyone been copying this down?”

There was a scurry of children hopping out of their seats, groping inside their school bags and zipping undone pencil cases.

“Th…this is preposterous! Are you all telling me that you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve spoken? Unbelievable! Detention for everyone at recess!”

And he turned to the blackboard again, livid. But he wasn’t the only one mad.

Yet again, I was unluckily blessed with dirty looks from my furious classmates. They were worse than the glares I received when I first came into the class. I didn’t know a group of kids who were meaner then the people around me! It was like I had committed a sin, the way they were carrying on, muttering nasty words underneath their breath, shaking their heads. How was I supposed to know about their unspoken rule? Even though I knew they were being unreasonable, and I was at least a foot taller then all of them, I felt my face go a shade of scarlet.

“Oh, I’m really sorry guys…” I trailed off, staring at the ground. I was fully expecting a nasty scowl from Evil, too. So I was pleasantly surprised when he gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“It’s alright. You don’t know how things run around here.” He whispered to me in a sympathetic tone. “You’ll catch on, tho’, I’m sure.”

----------

Soon after the incident, the bell rang, so I grabbed my lunch from my bag and scooted out to the playground, scanning around for my newfound friend. He promised me he’d meet me around the edge of the school’s boundaries. And sure enough, I found him waving to me.

“So, what have you got for lunch?” I asked him nonchalantly as I approached him.

He stared straight at me with a blank face. “Worms in a sandwich.”

“What… are you serious?” I said, taken aback.

A pause, then…

“Pfft, no!” He laughed, falling to his knees. “Ha-ha, you fell for it!”

I smiled nervously, playing along with the prank, trying not to look like I had been fooled. He is a pretty good actor, I thought, excusing myself to make me feel better. Still chuckling, Evil pulled out a thermos from behind his back and began to drink what appeared to be a thick, gluggy soup.

“It’s my mum’s secret recipe.” He added, catching my curious gaze.

I shrugged and pulled the plastic wrap from my own chicken-loaf sandwich, chewing it slowly, all the while observing my new friend.

There was something about Evil’s face that seemed to suggest a mystery. High cheekbones, pointy nose, tanned complexion, spiky brown hair, the thick Australian accent… in a way, he made me feel like I could never get close, like he was some sort of untouchable royalty. This was a quality I envied most in people my age. Although I was popular back at my old school, I never quite had that level of admiration and respect I would’ve liked.

Evil spoke again, dragging me back to reality.

“So, Max, wanna’ do somethin’ cool later tonight?” He asked, flashing a massive grin. It threw me completely off guard. I wasn’t expecting an invitation like this, especially since we had only just met.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d have to ask mum.” Not that it would have mattered. I never listen to mum anyway.

“Mum?” he scoffed, “I wasn’t talkin’ about hangin’ out or anythin’. This is somethin’ much more fun then that.”

I straightened up. “Really? What do you have planned?”

“You’re gonna’ love it,” he grinned, “but don’t tell your parents.”

“Why?”

“’Cause it involves breakin’ into Black House at midnight, tonight.”

6

“Breaking in?” I said, half amused and half sceptical. Expecting it to be another joke, I slouched back down again.

“Yeah, at Black House.”

I screwed up my face, trying to remember where I had heard that name before. It seemed vaguely familiar. Maybe my mother had mentioned it when she was talking about all the famous places in the car trip?

Evil saw my expression and smirked. “What, are you scared?”

“What? No, I thought…I just was-”

“-Thinkin’ how cool it will be?” he laughed. “Don’t worry ‘bout a thing. Cops ain’t gonna’ catch us. It’s gonna’ be tons of fun.”

As soon as Evil returned to eating his lunch again, waiting for a response, my brain began a heated argument with itself.

On one hand, I really didn’t want to get into trouble. Entry into a public property after visiting hours is illegal, and if the police are involved, I could get a criminal record. It would be a terrible stain on my and my mother’s new life here at Bulligong. Sure, I was rebellious, but not a criminal.

On the other hand, though, Evil seemed really nice. All the other kids in my class were horrible to me, and I highly doubt any of them wanted to be friends. If I didn’t go with Evil, would he consider me a sook, a chicken, and not want to be buds? I don’t want to go though school being a loner, and I certainly did not want to handle the hate from my classmates all by myself. Evil seems popular enough: If I hang out with him, maybe I’ll survive though school and come out the other end okay.

So, being my stupid, impressionable self, I made my decision.

“I- I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go with you. As long as you know what you’re doing.”

“Awesome! I thought for a moment there you were gonna’ say no!” Evil said, relieved. My face and his stretched into a small smile. “We can plan everythin’ out right now!”

---

“Max, eat your dinner. You haven’t touched one single thing on your plate.”

It was Mum speaking, and we were seated around the plastic-covered dining table. She had quickly thrown together some tin can food and processed, packeted macaroni on our plates. The oven and stove wasn’t quite ready to be used yet, so there was going to be a lot more skip meals to come.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Not hungry?” Mum repeated, “That’s not like you, Max. Is something wrong?”

“Mum, I want to ask you something.” I said, hoping to distract her. It worked.

“Yes?”

“Do you know where Black House is?”

7

For the next ten minutes, I endured a speech about Black House.

It turns out I had heard that name before. Mum did explain where it was on the car trip. She was a little angry when I told her I wasn’t listening to her speech then, but once she started talking about it, she relaxed and forgot all about her anger.

Turns out it was the biggest tourist attraction here in Bulligong. A seventeenth-century mansion, built as a retreat for the noble classes.

Soon after its construction, however, a brutal massacre took place. Half the castle’s inhabitants were slaughtered by a mad axeman bent on one crazy mission to rule. This was why the survivors quickly deserted the castle.

The mansion stood the test of time, and is currently owned by the Bulligong Council. It was rumoured to be haunted for centuries, so the council took advantage of this and now runs daily ghost tours. The tours are quite popular, and the mansion has boosted the Bulligong economy.

“Why did you ask about Black House anyway, Max?” Mum asked me, ending her little speech.

“No reason.”

“Really?”

I just stared at her blankly, hoping she’d get the message to leave me alone. Apparently not.

“Oh, that reminds me, Max, hon! How could I forget to ask you about your first day at school!”

Just wonderful. She remembered.

“Okay,” I lied.

“O-kay? Is that all?”

“Yes, it is. Look, mum, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Max, tell me what’s the matter.”

“No, mum!” I said angrily. I pushed back my chair and it made a scraping noise against the tile flooring. “Nothing’s wrong! I’m tired; it’s been a long day. I think I’ll go to bed now.” I stood up. “Oh, and thanks for tea.” I added, gazing at my barely touched plate. “’Night.”

I could feel mum watching me as, back turned, I stalked to my room. I needed to prepare for my adventure with Evil.

8

For the second night in a row, sleep would not come. It wasn’t that I couldn’t sleep, but that I shouldn’t sleep. I may accidentally miss the annoying chime from my alarm clock; therefore I would miss sneaking out. In other words: I’d be utterly screwed.

Taking a quite big nap in the afternoon to keep me energized, I was then confident I would stay awake all night, but the effects were wearing off. My eyelids started to flutter as I lay deathly still on the mattress. I was silently hoping that Evil would chicken out and I could go home quickly.

At quarter to twelve the alarm went off. I suddenly became wide awake and exceedingly alert. I scurried out of bed and hastily laced up my sneakers. Changing would have been pointless seeing as I hadn’t actually put on my pyjamas when I rudely bade my mother goodnight. Being extra careful not to make noise when I crept past her room, I stole out of the house and jumped on my bike.

The chilly breeze of the air carried the scent of freshly mowed lawn and fragranced flowers as I rode that night. It was a big change from the smell of pollution and take-away stores. This country-side town was going to take time to get used to.

I stopped pedalling; my gorilla hands clutched around the brake. The moonlight’s dull shine made it hard to make out the pictures on the map. By the looks of it, though, I was close to the famous house, and sure enough, after five more straight minutes of flat-out riding, the silhouette of the mighty mansion came into view.

Approaching the gate that surrounded the castle, I was starting to have serious doubts. Would Evil show up? Or worse, was it all a big set-up, for me to be the laughing stock of the school? I stowed my bike around a broad tree. I climbed the tall black fence, shaking my head like a frenzied dog, hoping to banish the evil thoughts away.

With an ominous thud, I scurried up the stone footpath, all the while taking in the view.

With a chill down my spine, I realised it was almost exactly how my brain depicted it in my nightmare yesterday. This fortress contained the same spiralling towers, the very same dead, hollow trees and identical oak double-doors.

No way. Absolutely no way.

How could I have pictured the very same castle in my dream when I hadn't seen the place before?

Déjavu, I assured myself. Just a freaky coincidence.

But it was hard to believe it.

My watch beeped; so it was time, and Evil hadn’t shown up. That was okay, I reasoned, nobody can be perfectly on time, every time. But as the minutes slipped by and Evil still had not arrived, I was growing nervous. Just as I turned around and began to sulk away, an icy hand grasped my shoulder…

PART THREE

9

“AAAHHH!” It was the second time I had screamed in two days. I heard a mad cackle of laughter, and, face flushing red with embarrassment, I faced Evil, who was clutching his sides.

“Man,” he sniggered, “you should have heard your scream!” I punched him softly on the shoulder, not hard enough to cause pain, but enough pressure for him to get the message.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” I growled warningly.

“Sorry, Max,” he said, his laughter dieing down, “I couldn’t resist.” He gave me a playful slap on the back. “So, are you ready to break in?”

“Oh, sure,” I responded sarcastically. I had a very minor question to ask him. “How the hell are we going to enter if the place is locked?” Public places are sure to have security… right?

“Locked?” he repeated, amused. “This place is neva’ shut up. Always open.”

And to demonstrate, he pushed open the oak doors.

“Woah,” I gasped, “it looks really…creepy.”

“That’s the point, you see,” said Evil, “otherwise the place wouldn’t get its reputation for bein’ haunted.

And with that statement, he hushed me inside.

The castle was far roomier then it appeared to be from the outside. The main entrance’s walls, made from smooth stone, spiralled up towards the ceiling, which was giving the impression of an upside-down cone. Flame torches hung from iron brackets, their lights flickering, casting enormous shadows wherever the light did not reach. A grand, crimson carpet stretched across the length of the room, all the way to the wooden stairs right opposite the entrance.

As I stood there beside Evil, who seemed to be enjoying the thrill of the eerie illusion cast by the fortress, I suddenly detected a musty smell lingering in the air. I hadn’t noticed it before, because I had been mesmerised by the castle. It was quite disgusting, and my nose screwed up in repulsion.

“Eugh!” I spat, “Evil, do you smell that?”

I glance at Evil for an answer, but he didn’t seem to notice me. He just simply stared around, wearing a close-to blank expression. But his eyes… I don’t know. Was it recognition or relief I found in them?

“Evil?”

“What?” He started suddenly. “Oh- oh, yeah, right. Mmm, funny smell.” And like that, the moment was gone, replaced by cringe-worthy silence.

“I still can’t believe no-one monitors this place,” I said, trying to soften up the mood.

“Yeah, kinda cool tho’! It makes more excitement for us!” He said, now beaming. He seemed to have forgotten about the silence. “Have you checked out the stuff on the walls?”

He pointed to some portraits, which were dusty and gold-framed, and some objects like copper and brass plates; they had little boxes underneath that had information scrawled on them. It was obvious they had been added for the enlightenment of the tourists. I edged closer, observing.

One caught my eye, however: it was a black-and-white portrait of many men, women and children dressed in olden-style clothing. Most were looking solemn; others looking horrified. The information at the bottom read “Patrons of the Black House, shortly after the Black Massacre of 1698. One day after this portrait was painted, the guests promptly evacuated.”

I could see the children (about my age) in the portrait; some looking agitated, some looking excited. All of their eyes were widened with emotion and extremely clear in the painting, drawing all the attention to them. When I looked closer, some of their clothes appeared ripped and torn. Why were these children restless? Were they bursting to get out and play?

Or did they just simply not understand the grim situation they were in?

I shivered and turned away. I did not want to think about it any longer. I instead focused on another intriguing thought.

“So, Evil? Now that we are here… what are we going to do?” I said it a little too bluntly on accident.

He stared at me as if I was dumb.

“What do you think? Explorin’, of course!”

10

Out of nowhere, my fishy companion withdrew a torch from underneath the jacket he was wearing. It was slim, black and portable, easily carried in one hand. At the press of a button, it’s bright, artificial light shimmered into life. Once more, his free hand groped around in the jacket and pulled out other identical torch, throwing it to me. Luckily, I was paying attention and caught it, because it was definitely heavier than I expected.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s go up the stairs. I know there’ll be plenty of rooms to explore. I don’t reckon even the staff that work here have bin’ everywhere.”

I shrugged, not knowing how to respond to this, and used my torch’s light to guide my shuffling feet upwards.

Now there was only silence between us, I had time to think. And the more I thought of the circumstances I was in, the more I felt vulnerable.

I was in a “supposedly” haunted castle, with a newfound friend who increasingly has me worried about his behaviour, at the dead of the night: nobody would argue that this isn’t the least bit worrying. Did I actually fall asleep after my disagreement with my mother, and this is just a vivid dream? It would explain the creepy coincidence of the house exactly resembling the castle in my nightmare the other night. I honestly wanted to believe this, but a dream this real couldn’t be a figment of my imagination.

Or could it? Since I’ve moved to this town, everything has seemed so unusual. The enthusiastically-insane teacher, the students who all seem to loathe me, the daredevil friend…

No. My brain was just overexciting itself, wanting to make something out of nothing. I angrily pushed these thoughts away, regretting my decision to take the time to mull over things. My mouth formed a straight line. I was determined to be brave.

As we reached the top of the stairs, we met a long corridor that appeared to have no end. Of course this was due to the darkness that our lights did not penetrate, but it was scary all the same. The walls were lined with doors, and at the same time, if our brains were riding the same thought-wave, Evil and I checked the doors closest to us simultaneously.

Damn. Both were locked. It figures: Leave the front entrance open, but lock everything inside. Evil made a frustrated, gutted sound when his attempts to yank the door ajar failed.

“Let’s try further up,” Evil said, still fuming. We crept along, torches held above us, like we were about to strike something with them.

Now I started to wonder about the “fun” part of this illegal activity. I couldn’t see the excitement, and as we hopelessly checked door after door, I kept thinking the only thrilling thing that could happen was if the police came barging in and arrested us. Or if we found a ghost, but that was impossible. Ghosts didn’t exist.

My mouth was still firmly shut, not only because of my determination, but Evil’s, too. He didn’t complain even when we had to climb another flight of stairs, so I wasn’t going to start groaning.

Finally, after what seemed the millionth door, Evil suddenly cried out in exuberance.

“Got one! It’s open, it’s open!”

Not even I could hide my joy. I turned and he was slowly opening the door to reveal…

11

A living room.

Lavishly furnished with comfortable objects, I could almost feel the grandeur of the place as I crossed into the area. A window allowed moonlight to spill into the room, revealing its contents. A brick fireplace held remainders of wood, now crumbled to ash. A crystal chandelier hung limply over our heads. A soft, crimson rug lay stretched in the centre of the room. It would be perfect, except…

“How does this match the rest of the castle?” I voice my thoughts out loud, “I mean, this castle is old and mediocre. And then you have this room, which is all flashy and expensive. Maybe the council did this place up themselves. What do you think, Evil?”

No response.

“Evil?”

These cliff-hanging answers were becoming frustratingly common.

I turned to my side, about ready to tell him this so, until I noticed he was not beside me anymore.

Instead, my friend was half collapsed at the side of a couch, clutching its arm for support, torch long discarded.

“Evil!” I yell, rushing to his side, dropping my own torch. “Evil, what’s the matter?” There was only a groan in response.

I checked for an obvious sign of injury, but there was none. No bleeding or bruising. It was clearly something I couldn’t see.

“No,” he muttered, barely audible, so I leaned in close to hear him, “he’s here, safe. No, please! Don’t punish me!” his voice pitch rose with the last few words. I could see the horror sketched onto his pallid face, the frightened look in his widened, piercing blue eyes.

He grabbed my shirt and yanked me closer. My own eyes broadened in shock.

And suddenly, before I could grasp the situation, a haunting, chilling voice spoke.

“Max Henderson. Finally.”

Everything seemed to happen at once.

I spun around, releasing Evil’s grip, to face a child, sunken and gaunt in the cheeks, maniacally laughing. It seemed to flicker in and out of existence like a projector. Then the child, still cackling, stretched out in a kaleidoscope blur of colours, and as I screamed in terror, the multi-coloured shadow suddenly darted towards me. I doubled back, collapsing on my ankles, my head inevitably thudding against the arm of the sofa that was behind me.

I knew it was too late. My head seared with the pain of colliding with the chair. My heart was having spasms. The cold feeling of dread washed over me, and it was then I knew I was going to die here.

And as darkness threatened to ebb at my vision, for the pain and disbelief was too much for my failing body, I took one last fleeting glance at Evil.

He only gave me a hopeless stare back.

And then I was no more.

PART FOUR

12

I wonder what non-existence is like. Nothing much, I gather.

Apart from feeling like my whole body is on fire.

Wait, fire?

Feeling?

You’re not able to sense things when you’re dead, right?

At that moment, I realised I had a body. And limbs, too, because they were making contact with something I guessed was a metallic surface.

And I became aware that I had eyes, so I opened them.

My first reaction was “Hey, I’m not dead!”, but my second reaction, ones my eyes adjusted to the sudden shift of light, was horrible.

I was right about touching something metallic, because I was fastened to a metal table. My hands were bounded by chains, and when I attempted to move my feet, I discovered they were bound, too. My mouth tasted like blood, and when I observed my rest of my body, which was no mean feat because my head could barely move from pain, my clothes were stained in the crimson fluid.

I surveyed my surroundings, and immediately my heart dropped.

I was still in the house. That was obvious because of the stone walls and hanging torches. But that wasn’t the reason why I was terrified.

It was the bottles of toxic and poisonous liquids, resting on the benches, and cages full of hissing snakes which almost caused me to scream. I bit my lip to stop any sound escaping. I sat there, breathing heavily, telling myself over and over again to keep calm, think straight. I needed a plan to get out of here.

Now my eyes scanned desperately for a flicker of hope. A window, a door, a crevice in the wall; anything that would allow me to make a quick getaway, but as I kept searching, it became apparent that my plan was futile. Even if I had found a door, which I still hadn’t ruled out a possibility since I had to have been taken into this room through something, I still had no way to free myself from the metal straps encasing my limbs. Tears ran down my face. I couldn’t escape. I was trapped.

“Finally, you’ve broken down.” My nose seized up and my spine prickled. It was that voice. I glanced from side to side, moving my throbbing head to try and locate where the voice was coming from.

It emerged from the shadows. I gasped.

The child was back again. This time, I was given more time to examine his features.

His clothes, very much a representation of the 16th century fashion, were ripped and torn. He bore deep gashes across its hollow cheeks, and a thick scar was carved onto his neck. Although the child was smaller in size then me, I felt very lowly in his presence. And when I dared to look into its eyes, they were a piercing blue. Exactly like the children in the portrait, I thought suddenly.

“My name is Macabre,” he spoke, and yet again, I was taken aback by his tone. Macabre could not look older then me, but his voice was low and superior, something you’d expect from an adult. He stood stationary, back stiffly upright.

“What do you want from me?” I squealed accidentally, and swallowed. “I haven’t done anything to you,” I said, a little more clearly this time around.

Macabre didn’t answer. Instead, he moved closer.

“Please, just let me go!” I pleaded. He just smiled.

“What’s on your neck, Max?” Macabre asked. I glanced down.

“You mean my necklace?” I said, gazing at it. “W…what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Oh, Max,” he said, “It’s got everything to do with our situation.”

I was totally confused. The ghost, no, child (for I refused to call it a ghost)… wants my necklace? He wants the black pendant given to me by my grandfather, Ronald Grim?

“Max Henderson… do you know how your grandfather died?” said Macabre, just as if he knew I was thinking of my grandfather. I didn’t answer. Because truthfully, I had never asked mum about his death.

“Max, that necklace belongs to us. And you’re going to give it up. Or else.”

13

“Oh, your grandfather was with us, in the beginning; my second-hand man. But he betrayed us. He wished to become mortal, fall in love, have children and be a free man, all that human rubbish. He was willing to lose his powers as a child ghost-slave, so he took that necklace, broke the immortal spell on himself, and ran.” He paused for dramatic flair, and then began again.

“It took us eighty years to track him down. Oh, revenge was sweet, and watching him die was the cherry on top!

“During his last hours, he confessed that you were the holder of the necklace. So we did what it took to bring you here. One measly will change, and you scrambled over like fleeing ants to our home.”

Macabre started to laugh like a maniac. When his laughter died down, so did his tone of voice. “That necklace was the source of life here in this castle. Without it, my slaves are reduced to shadows. Shadows! They are not in the least bit able to serve me effectively. We cannot roam the daytime. We cannot possess humans. We cannot touch human flesh. I had to get that common human slave to strap you down.”

Common human slave? Was he talking about Evil? Was Evil serving Macabre? It would explain his weird behaviour. Was this trip a setup that would lead to my death? So many questions!

“See how pathetic our lives are, as ghosts? See how pathetic my life is, with the absence of worthy slaves? It’s so tiring…”

But what was tiring, I did not find out. I wasn’t paying attention anymore. I suddenly had a brilliant plan. Pushing the nasty child’s words out of my brain, especially those of my dead grandfather, I concentrated on my plan.

Macabre was blabbering on more to himself then to me. It was just like a villain spilling out his guts to a captured hero. They voice their evil ideas out loud more for their own benefit than the hero’s. And, luckily for me, Macabre had begun to talk to himself.

I had noticed a big, silver button.The ends of my chains were connected to it. It was like I was in a comic book, the moment was that predictable. Of course that was the button to release the chains.

How to reach it? I couldn’t use my limbs, obviously, because they were bound.

But… I could use my professional spitting skills!

If any ounce of me still believed that this talent was a waste of time to learn, that thought was obliterated from my brain. Aiming my face directly at the button, I expelled the saliva that was in my mouth. Surprisingly, it accurately hit the target and with force.

The effect was immediate.

The metal chains unfastened, but the noise was loud. I only managed to scramble of the table before Macabre realised what was going on.

“No you don’t! Slaves!” he shrieked.

A dozen black figures burst from the wall to my left. I charged at them. Just as I expected, I ran straight through them as if they were not present in the air.

“Argh!” Macabre screamed.

I ran through the darkness, and as I predicted, there was an exit hidden there, which led to a hallway I hadn’t seen before.

I let my legs have a workout while my hands were outstretched in front of me like a zombie. I didn’t have a clue were I was going, and it terrified me. I was trapped in a ghostly maze. The shadows live here, and if I didn’t escape soon, they were certain to find me before I found the exit.

My breaths sounded similar to a squeaking mouse. It was a dead giveaway to my position, but I couldn’t help it. I needed all my energy to focus on where I was headed, rather then worrying about my breathing.

For what seemed like eternity, I sprinted through the castle, sometimes accidentally running into a stone wall. I didn’t even feel the pain. I was so deeply in shock that nothing registered except my will to escape.

My legs registered the sudden glimpse of flames before my brain did. Torches- that must mean I’m on the bottom floor!

Adrenaline like I had never felt before coursed through my veins, like somebody had stuck a needle in my arm and given me a shot of confidence.

And soon enough, I was at the doors. I pulled them open. I was stunned for a moment, taking in the sudden blast of chilly night air, before my legs took off.

There was no swell of glorious, dramatic music, and no smile graced my mouth. This wasn’t a box-office movie smash, it was real-life, and it was actually happening. So all I heard was the pounding of my heart against my chest, my rasping breath, and the hard thud after thud of my foot contacting the ground.

I didn’t want to look back. Curiosity always killed the cat, they say. But curiosity overwhelmed me then, and as I approached the gate, ready to spring over it, I turned my head.

For a moment, I couldn’t see anything but the creepy mansion. But my eyes spotted a figure behind one of the many windows on the left side. I squinted closer, and I swore my heart could have jumped right out of my ribs.

It was Evil. He stood there, and waved. Next second, his murderous cackle filled the air.

That’s it! I thought. I have to get out of here before things get any weirder!

14

I jumped over the gate. I grabbed my bike, and pedalled faster than I had ever pedalled in my entire life. I didn’t bother with the map. On the way to the castle, I memorised a few landmarks as guides to my house’s location, so I let them show me the way.

I dropped the bike in its resting place as I arrived home. My heart had not stopped racing like a crazed fish.

Sneaking around the house was easy, and so was getting in. The back door was unlocked.

I washed the blood of my face and arms and tore off my bloodstained shirt, stashing it in my cupboard. I crept to the kitchen, where I found some antiseptic. I applied it liberally to all of my cuts and bruises. I couldn’t feel any sting from the medicine. My body was still blocking all pain from the trauma. For now.

I snuck back to the bedroom undetected, but by then, the urge to sleep was kicking in. Any longer spent sneaking around and I probably would have been careless enough to wake my mum up. I undressed groggily into my pyjamas, and without a second thought, I passed out on my bed.

-x-x-x-

When I awoke the next morning, sitting up, I could have sworn I had been run over by a ten-tonne truck. I almost collapsed back down on my pillow again: only remembering that I had school today bought me to my (shaky) legs. Why was it so hard to walk today?

Stumbling to the kitchen cupboard, I realised mum had the day off today, which probably meant she’d be sleeping in.

I glanced down at my arm, and jumped at the sight of bruises. Why did I have bruises? And then I thought it might have been caused by something I did last night. So why couldn’t I remember a single thing about last night?

Why? I tried to think back, scrounge around my mind, but a dense fog was shrouding it. This was ridiculous! The last thing I remember doing was discussing plans with Evil about a break-in he wanted us to do. And the rest was blank!

Maybe speaking to Evil at school will solve my problem. Maybe I hurt myself at school, and they asked mum to take me home, and I slept through the night. It wasn’t the best theory, but it was the only sensible one. If Evil was with me at that time, he would know what happened.

Then there was only one thing left for me to do then: I had to get to school.

Although every inch of me ached, I ate and dressed fast. I grabbed an apple and a banana and chucked it into a paper bag, deeming it worthy enough to cover recess and lunch. My bike was waiting for me outside, and while it pained me to ride it, it would have pained me more to wake up mum and ask her for a ride. She needed her sleep.

I rode, basking in the morning sunshine, checking the map in my bag for directions every now and again. Minutes only passed by the time I was at school.

I found my classroom.

No sign of Evil.

I sighed, and sat at the desk I had been ushered to yesterday by the very same person I was desperately looking for.

Out of the corner of my eye, I perceived a boy beside me. His head was buried so low in his lap that I couldn’t see his face. Poor him. Something was obviously wrong in his life, as there was something wrong in mine. But then I studied his hair. His very brown, spiky hair. And I studied him arms: his very tanned, thin arms.

As if he was aware I was beside him, Evil jerked his head up to stare at me.

He grinned. Maliciously. Crazily.

And all my memories came flooding back as a tidal wave of horrible emotions hit me.

Oh no.

“Ready to come back to your doom, Max?”