The Dare

The wind howled all day. If it let up at all, it was just to catch its breath so it could gust all the harder. It was only a matter of time before the power went out. I didnÕt want a blackout because I wanted to enjoy every second of this HalloweÕen dance because it was probably going to be my last one. No matter how the night went, I couldnÕt see an outcome that worked out for me, unless Mary Chambers whipped past me and dragged Brock back to Hell. I smiledÑbecause if you wanted something bad enough, it would happen if you truly believed, and I truly believed that Brock should go to Hell.

Even though the wind blew hard and cold, they kept us standing outside the gym doors until fifteen minutes before the dance was supposed to start. Even worse, Principal Abernathy grabbed me by the shoulder as soon as I got past the ticket takers.
ÒIs it true you took the dare, Jonathan?Ó

ÒWhat dare, sir?Ó I said. Whenever I lied my adamÕs apple yo yo-ed, my face turned red and sweat beaded along my hairline. It didnÕt matter what the lie was. It could be anything from, ÒYour hair looks good like that,Ó to, ÒI have no idea how the car got into the ditch,Ó and my bobbing adamÕs apple would give me away.

ÒThe only reason IÕm not sending you home is because I donÕt want you going anywhere near that house. Do you understand?Ó

I swallowed hard and mumbled, ÒYes, sir.Ó

No one looked directly at me and when I walked by they would turn to one another and whisper things like, ÒHeÕs the one.Ó Even my best friend Kyle avoided me. Of all people, youÕd think heÕd have been the one to try to talk me out of it, or help me find a loophole through which to squirm. The minute hand moved like it was dragging the QE IIÕs anchor. The wind howled, sometimes louder than the band. At nine, the lights flickered. Fifteen long minutes later the gym went dark. Girls screamed. Some people laughed. It was only a small miracle that I didnÕt soil myself as we were herded to the emergency lit exits. Within a half hour, I would be dying in Mary ChambersÕ bedroom.

Brock and his goons intercepted me in the parking lot. Brock pushed me ahead and the goons and a bunch of kids from the dance fell in behind us. It was a long five blocks to the ChambersÕ house. Aside from the wind and a few lame jokes from BrockÕs goons, it was a quiet walk. Brock yanked me to a stop at the gate and then kicked it open. It squeaked and swung shut. He cursed and kicked it again, but before it had a chance to swing back, he shoved me into the opening.

ÒSay the words, dweeble,Ó he said. ÒSay them.Ó He cuffed the back of my head.

ÒMary Chambers,Ó I stammered.

ÒLouder,Ó Brock said.

ÒMary Chambers,Ó I yelled. ÒI am your killer.Ó

Brock and his goons whooped and yelled, almost in unison, ÒMary Chambers, Mary Chambers get your killer.Ó

Brock pushed me forward and I stumbled toward the house.  Tears clouded my vision. I went forward because I knew if I turned around or tried to run away, IÕd get the crap beaten out of me. Ahead, there was a chance that I would face only my own scared face in the mirror. After surviving the dare, Brock wouldnÕt be able to pick on me any more because IÕd have proven myself to be as brave as he. The cement slabs of the sidewalk were cracked and in many places, sunken. The three stairs to the porch were weather-worn and worm eaten. All of the windows and doors had been nailed shut, but over time the nails had been pulled or had fallen out like an old drunkÕs teeth. The rusted knob didnÕt turn, but the door gave easily. The smell of dust, mould, rat crap and age whooshed out. The living room floor was strewn with empty beer bottles, scraps of broken furniture, dirt and pages torn from books.

Brock and his goons whooped as I took my first step into the house. I didnÕt look back. A gust of wind dust devilled through the living room, lifting debris from one spot to another. It fizzled and papers and dust specks lit by light leaking in from the street, flitted to the floor. Just as I was about to back out of the house, the door slammed behind me. I spun around, grabbed the knob and pulled. It didnÕt budge. Two bedrooms stood to my left, their doors ajar. The wind screamed through the rafters, threatening to bring the house down around me.

I had no choice now  but to look into Mary ChambersÕ vanity table mirror and take the blame for her murder. I picked my way to her bedroom door.

As I reached for the knob, wind blasted the house. Bits of rotten wood rained down on me. MaryÕs door slammed open. The figure of a girl in a ratty prom dress sat at the vanity, her face in her hands. The skeleton of a hairband clung to her stringy clumps of hair. She was pale and glowed faintly. She turned and looked at me with hollow black eyes. Her mouth fell open, revealing a full set of black and yellow teeth. She screamed. It was as shrill as steel wheels and turned my blood cold.
ÒItÕs you,Ó She hissed. Mary pointed at the mirror. My reflection showed me with snow white hair, and Mary as she must have looked on her way to the HalloweÕen dance on October 25th, 1957. In the mirror I saw a group of boys dragging Mary away. One of them was Mister Abernathy and another was my father.

MaryÕs icy hands close around my throat É

999 words