When her aunt left, Rosalyn went up to her room and tried to read a novel she had brought along. But the novel didn’t interest her. After a few minutes, she slammed the book shut. She got up and went out into the hallway. There was nothing she could think of to do. Her vacation had turned out to be a disappointment.

  As she walked down the hallway, she passed the door that she knew led up to the attic. She paused in front of it. Aunt Harriet had acted very strangely about her going into the attic. Rosalyn wondered what could be up there… Probably a lot of old clothes that Aunt Harriet didn’t want her to get into. Or maybe there were other family photographs that her aunt didn’t want to have to talk about. Rosalyn put her hand on the doorknob. To her surprise, it turned. But then she took her hand away. Aunt Harriet had warned her, almost threatened her, not to go up there.

  She started to walk away. But her curiosity about the attic made her stop. Aunt Harriet was a little crazy. There was probably no reason in the world why she shouldn’t go up into the attic.

  Making up her mind, Rosalyn put her hand on the doorknob again and turned it. As she pushed the door open, it stuck for a moment, but then swung open. A short flight of stairs led up to the attic. Rosalyn walked up them slowly. As her eyes reached the level of the attic floor, she saw something that brought her to a dead halt. She stared at the thing — the half human, half animal thing staring back at her. Then she left out an awful scream and scrambled back down the attic stairs.

  Rosalyn felt sick. She couldn’t believe what she had just seen. It didn’t make any sense — it was some monstrous, living thing such as she had never before seen. She pushed open the attic door and ran to the stairway. Then she heard what she had feared. Steps were coming down the attic stairs behind her — the steps of that thing.

  For a moment, Rosalyn’s knees gave out. She tried to run away as she saw the thing come onto the hall landing, but she couldn’t. The awful creature came nearer her. It reached out a fur-covered arm. Rosalyn ran.

  She ran down the steps, nearly falling. The thing came after her. She could hear it making short, snorting sounds as it breathed. Rosalyn ran into the living room.

  Then she realized in a second that there was no way out of the room. She dashed for the door again, just barely missing the thing’s outstretched arm.

  She ran down the hallway to the kitchen. The thing lumbered after her. She tried to get its face out of her mind. It was the face — the strangely human face — that bothered her most. She ran through the kitchen to the back door to the garden. Too late, she realized that the garden, also, was a dead end.

  Rosalyn pressed her back up against the stone garden wall. The thing came out of the back door and shuffled toward her. She saw its ugly face spread wide in a smile. She screamed and darted to one side. Again, she just escaped its outstretched arm.

  But now it was close behind her. Rosalyn ran through the kitchen and into the hallway. But she didn’t make it to the front door. She stumbled and fell.

  The thing came up and stood over Rosalyn. It reached its furry arm down to her and tapped her on the head.

  “Tag, you’re it,” it said in a human voice.

  “Tag, you’re it,” the parrot croaked from its cage.

  Rosalyn fainted.

  When she came to, the thing’s face was still hovering over her. But beside it was Aunt Harriet’s face.

  “Rosalyn, you naughty girl. What did I tell you about going into the attic. I said you would be sorry.” Aunt Harriet was shaking her finger at Rosalyn. “You’ve got poor Herman all nervous now.”

  “Poor Herman,” the parrot repeated.

  “Yes, poor Herman,” Aunt Harriet said, stroking her son’s head. “He has never been the same since Arthur’s last experiment.”

  Then Aunt Harriet looked down at Rosalyn again. “You do realize, Rosalyn, that we can’t let you go now. Not now that you know our secret. I’ll call your parents and tell them that you never arrived here. And we can arrange a nice room for her in the attic, can’t we Herman?”

  Rosalyn looked up into her mad aunt’s face. Then she looked at her cousin. An eager grin was spread across Herman’s ugly face.

  “You’ll be very happy with us, Rosalyn,” Aunt Harriet said.

  “Very happy,” the parrot croaked.

  Rosalyn screamed. And then she fainted away again.

  Herman picked up her limp body and started carrying it up the staircase to the attic door.

  THE TUNNEL OF TERROR

  In the late summer, just before school started, Ellen always went to the Ohio State Fair with her friends. This year she set off for the state capital early one hot, summer morning with her friends, Jane and Diane. They laughed and talked all the way to Columbus on the two-hour trip. Arriving at the fair, they joined the crowd of people circling the dusty midway lined with food stands, rides, and other amusements.

  By late afternoon, the three of them were tired and a little bored. They had seen nothing new from last year. Still, they decided to walk around the midway just one more time.

  They passed the ice cream and hot dog and waffle stands. They looked over the Ferris wheel, the Wild Mouse and all the other rides again. And they walked by the freak show advertisements showing the fat lady, the Siamese twins, and the man with a rubber mouth.

  Then they passed a small passageway they hadn’t noticed before. Ellen suggested they follow it to see what was at the end. The passage twisted around behind the canvas tents until it ended at a huge sign advertising something called The Tunnel of Terror. The sign showed a small boat traveling along a dark canal. Along one side of the canal was a scene with wax figures showing someone being guillotined in the French Revolution.

  “Creepy,” Jane said. “I wouldn’t go in there.”

  Ellen wasn’t sure what put the idea into her head, but suddenly she wanted to ride through the Tunnel of Terror. Maybe it was that the tunnel looked cool and she was weary of the searing heat of the midway. Or maybe it was that she was looking for something new in her life, some new experience that would be strange and different.

  “Anybody dare me to go hi?” she asked.

  “Are you crazy?” Diane said.

  “I dare you,” Jane said.

  “All right, I’ll go,” Ellen announced bravely. “I suppose you two are afraid.”

  “We’ll pay your way, right, Diane?” Jane said. “But wild horses couldn’t drag me in there.”

  The three walked up the ticket booth. A grizzled old man sat in it, cleaning his fingernails with a penknife.

  “One, please,” Ellen said.

  “You’re going in alone, are you?” the old man asked, staring at her through his bushy eyebrows.

  “I’m not afraid,” Ellen said. “Where do I catch the boat?”

  The old man motioned her behind the ticket booth. As she went around, Diane and Jane started to follow.

  “No,” the old man said, “you can’t go any further. You didn’t buy tickets.”

  Ellen tried to sound cheerful as she yelled good-bye to her friends. But the boat was old and creaking, and she shivered as she slipped into the moldy, leather seat.

  The old man pulled a wooden handle beside the canal that started a gear in motion. Ellen was startled by the noise and turned around to look at him. His mouth was set in a wide grin that showed his dirty, decaying teeth. Then, suddenly, she saw nothing; the boat had glided into pitch-black darkness.

  In the dark, Ellen noticed that her sense of hearing became very keen. There was the creaking drag of the boat along the canal. There was the slobbering lap of the water against the sides of the boat. Then there was a shriek that made her heart jump to her throat.

  A second after the shriek, a spotlight flashed on. Two feet in front of the boat was a man stretched out on a torture rack, his arms tearing from their sockets. Ellen could see the red blood oozing from his skin. She closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands. How much longer would this last?

  The boat jerked around a sharp turn. Then the shriek Ellen heard was her own. A slimy mass had just passed over her face. She crouched down in the boat, feeling sick to her stomach. If she could stay like this until the trip was over, maybe she could stand it. Why did she ever want to come in here, she asked herself. She would give anything to be out in the bright sunlight with her friends.

  There was a rumbling sound in front of her. Then Ellen heard the1 sharp hit of metal against wood. She peeked from between her hands. It was the guillotine scene. A bloody head rolled from the victim’s head into a bucket next to the guillotine’s sharp blade.

  She braced herself for the next scene as the boat took another sickening, sharp turn. She felt something wet, something furry, slip around her shoulders. She tried to contain her screams. It would go away, she told herself, just like the slimy mass before. But the wet fur seemed to press closer to her. She felt a weight get into the boat beside her. She screamed and screamed and screamed….

  Outside, Jane and Diane were laughing about the noises coming from inside the Tunnel of Terror. They could see that the old man was enjoying it, too. He leered at them, with a strange grin on his face.

  But then, the noise from the Tunnel of Terror seemed to change. The screaming became constant, taking on a shrill tone of madness. The two girls looked at each other uneasily. Jane walked up to the old man’s ticket booth.

  “Will she be coming out soon?” she asked him.

  “In another few minutes,” he answered, still grinning. “Getting her money’s worth, ain’t she?”

  Jane walked back to where Diane stood at the end of the canal. “I don’t like it. I wish she would come out.”

  Just then the air was split with a cry of terror so awful the two girls shuddered at the sound of it.

  “Get her out of there!” Jane said, running up to the old man.

  “Nothing I can do,” he said.

  The screaming went on in the tunnel. It was hysterical now. Then a louder sound pierced the air. An announcement was being made over the intercom of the fair grounds.

  “Ladies and gentleman. It is important that you stay calm and don’t panic. A gorilla has escaped from the zoo. Please find a safe place to wait until it has been recaptured. Don’t go anywhere alone. Let me repeat again, don’t panic.”

  But the announcement came too late for Ellen. Her friends watched as she glided out of the tunnel, the gorilla sitting on the seat beside her.

  They got Ellen out of the boat. And, miraculously, she was unharmed. Except for her mind, that is.

  They had to take her to the state hospital in Pleasant Valley immediately.

  <

  THE FORTUNETELLER

  Mr. Peebles pushed aside the curtain of glass beads that hung over the entrance to the fortuneteller’s chamber. He walked inside. Behind him, the beads swung back together with a clatter.

  Mr. Peebles was alone in the chamber. He sat down on a chair and surveyed the room. Red and black silk curtains hung all around the walls, alternating in color. The floor was covered with brightly designed Persian carpets. Mr. Peebles looked up. Painted on the black ceiling were symbols and pictures, which he had never seen before. An eerie blue light shone throughout the room.

  Mr. Peebles put his hands on his knees and waited. His wife had told him that he would have to wait. It was his wife, in fact, who had persuaded Mr. Peebles to come to the fortuneteller. Mr. Peebles himself was a far too reasonable man to be interested in hocus-pocus like this, but his wife was a persuasive woman.

  The swishing sound of silk against silk made Mr. Peebles look up. The fortuneteller had entered the chamber. She was a large woman with long, black hair. Her costume was flamboyant. The red, full dress was adorned with necklaces, bangles, and a silver belt, which had a clasp, designed of two intertwined snakes’ heads.

  “You are Mr. Peebles.” The fortuneteller announced this as a fact, not a question.

  “Yes, yes, I am,” Mr. Peebles stammered, suddenly flustered by the presence of this overwhelming woman.

  “Take my hand and come to the table.” The woman reached a heavily-bangled arm out to Mr. Peebles. He drew his arm out to her and she clutched his hand tightly, almost fiercely. She led him over to one corner of the room where a round table sat. Two chairs were arranged around it, opposite from each other.

  “Sit down, Mr. Peebles, and we will begin.” Mr. Peebles stumbled into the chair to which the fortuneteller pointed and sat down. His eyes were riveted on the crystal ball, which sat in the dead center of the round table. He looked at it with a mixture of amusement and fear.

  The chamber was much as he had expected. It contained all the typical furnishings and paraphernalia of the fortuneteller. And, yet, he was uneasy here. His common sense was disturbed by the presence of this woman, who already exerted a magnetic influence over him.

  “Look into my eyes, Mr. Peebles.” The fortuneteller’s voice was strong and suggestive. Mr. Peebles obeyed.

  “You have suffered a great misfortune, haven’t you, Mr. Peebles?” she said, staring deep into his eyes.

  “Yes, that’s right…” Mr. Peebles began.

  “You lost the job you had for twenty years, didn’t you, Mr. Peebles?”

  Now it seemed to Mr. Peebles that the fortuneteller could see behind his eyes, into his brain.

  “How did you know?” he asked dreamily.

  “I know,” the fortuneteller replied. “And I know more. You fear death, don’t you, Mr. Peebles? You feel the hand of death tightening around your neck.”

  At that moment, Mr. Peeble’s neck did seem to be choked by an invisible hand. He began to pour out what had been haunting him these past months.

  “Yes, I fear death, yes. I feel that life has passed me by and that all that is left for me is death.”

  “Poor Mr. Peebles,” the fortuneteller’s voice went on soothingly. “Let me consult the crystal ball.”

  The fortuneteller led Mr. Peebles’ gaze from her eyes down to the crystal ball. It radiated an intense blue light — the eerie blue glow that Mr. Peebles had noticed in the room earlier.

  The fortuneteller began to drone a rhythmic chant as she stared into the crystal ball. Then, suddenly, she sucked in her breath. Mr. Peebles shifted his eyes from the crystal ball to her face. Her eyes were burning and the black brows were knit together.

  “I see doom before you, Mr. Peebles. What the crystal ball has told me is not pleasant. It gives a black picture of your future. Death…”

  Her words were drowned out by Mr. Peebles’ shriek of despair. His fears had been right. Death was stalking him.

  He felt the fortuneteller’s fingers entwine in his. “Mr. Peebles, Mr. Peebles. We all must die. You must simply accept it… and provide for your loved ones.”

  Mr. Peebles came out of his reverie. Loved ones, yes, he must provide for his beloved wife, Margaret… his darling Margaret.

  Mr. Peebles left the fortuneteller’s chamber in a daze. He stumbled from the dark room penetrated by the eerie blue light out into the darker blackness of the winter night. As he drove his car home, he made himself a promise. No matter what came to him and how soon, he would take care of Margaret.

  Margaret was standing in the hallway, waiting for him, when he arrived home. To a stranger, they would have appeared to be father and daughter. She was, in fact, fifteen years younger than her husband.

  “Margaret, it’s awful. She said just what I feared…” Mr. Peebles poured out his experience with the fortuneteller to his wife. She listened to his story, stroking his balding head with her soft hands.

  “Margaret, you will be cared for. Don’t worry. I plan to take out a $100,000 life insurance policy.”

  “Whatever you want, dear. But stop this horrible talk of death. I won’t hear it any more. You laughed when I first suggested that you go to a fortuneteller. And now you take her silly prediction so seriously….”

  Mr. Peebles felt better after that. He and his wife went to bed.

  The first thing Mr. Peebles did the next morning was to visit his insurance broker. Despite the broker’s advice to the contrary, he insisted that he take out a new insurance policy immediately. The beneficiary would be, of course, his wife.

  Mr. Peebles felt much better as he drove home from the insurance office, despite the meaning of what he had just done. He fell into a daydream about Margaret, how she could always keep the house, and live as she did now….

  SCREETCH. Mr. Peebles’ foot trembled on the brake pedal. The train engine flashed before him, followed by a constant whiz of boxcars. Their rumbling wheels on the track kept tune with Mr. Peebles’ pounding heart.

  The fortuneteller had been right about death. He had just barely escaped it.

  When he got home, Mr. Peebles told his wife about the train. She lay down on the couch and sobbed. To comfort her, he brought out the insurance policy. He kept repeating to her how she would always be protected.

  That afternoon Mr. Peebles went out into the garage where he did small projects with wood to keep himself busy. Now he needed to get his mind off the morning incident with the train. He cleaned off the worktable area, putting tools back in their proper drawers. There seemed to be a knife he had misplaced.

  He rummaged through more drawers. Then, he reached up to a cabinet high above the table. As he pulled the door open, the missing knife fell from the cabinet ledge. Its sharp blade plunged down an inch away from his terrified eyes. The knife dug into the wooden workbench and vibrated from the force of its impact. Mr. Peebles backed away in horror.

  There was a death jinx on him.

  Mr. Peebles spent the rest of the afternoon lying on the couch in his study. He was paralyzed with fear. Death’s bony hand seemed to be tightening its grip around his neck. He refused the dinner his wife brought him. He refused even to talk with her. Finally, in the late evening, he felt that he must get out of the house. He decided to take a walk along a deserted road near the house. He would be safe there. No traffic was allowed on the path.

 

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