Danger at the Fair (5 page)

Ellen handed Caitlin the message and watched Caitlin’s expression change from scorn to concern as she read it.

“That is scary,” Caitlin said, as she handed the paper back to Ellen. “It is definitely not your handwriting and I don’t see how it could be a trick, either. Not when it was your own pencil and you were holding it.”

“It doesn’t look like Grandpa’s handwriting, either,” Ellen said. “But who else would the message be from?”

“Maybe it’s from your guardian angel.”

“That’s what The Great Sybil said. I didn’t know you believed in angels.”

“My aunt says everyone has a guardian angel,” Caitlin said. “She prays to hers every day, asking the angel to keep her safe.”

“Sort of like a fairy godmother?”

“Not exactly. Aunt Catherine says we each have an angel who is always with us, to guide us and help us. Sometimes, when we think we have a good idea, it’s really our angel who puts the idea into our head. Aunt Catherine even asks
her
angel to talk to other people’s angels. When we went on our vacation last year, she had her angel ask my angel to be especially watchful over me while I was away from home.”

“Does she ever get written messages from her angel?”

“No,” Caitlin admitted, “but I suppose all angels are different. When I was little, I used to imagine that my guardian angel sat on top of my bookshelf at night, watching me sleep, and shooing away any goblins. It was comforting.”

“You never told me this before.”

“It isn’t the sort of thing that comes up in ordinary conversation.
I always wanted to think Aunt Catherine was right, but it’s been a long time since I believed there was an angel on my bookshelf.”

“Whoever it is from,” Ellen said, “the message makes me nervous.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Caitlin asked.

Ellen shrugged. “What
can
I do?”

“Are you going to tell your parents?”

“No. Mom would get upset and Dad would say The Great Sybil is a fake and tell me never to go back.”

“What about Corey? Will you tell him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to worry him and I’m afraid if I tell him, he’ll blab to my folks. You know what a motormouth he is.”

Caitlin nodded. “Still, if he’s going to be in danger, maybe you should try to warn him. He might be more cautious.”

Ellen looked again at the slip of paper in her hand. “The danger is some time in the future,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll say anything to Corey just yet.”

“Maybe you’ll get another message,” Caitlin said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,
you
did the automatic writing, not The Great Sybil. Maybe you can get messages from the spirits any time you want.”

Ellen did not answer. What if Caitlin was right? What if she could contact—contact who? She was not at all sure she wanted to receive more messages from the dead. Not even Grandpa.

COREY
raised his arms high above his head, aimed at the red spot in the middle of the stack of wooden milk bottles, and
threw the ball as hard as he could. Thunk! It hit almost in the center of the spot, toppling six of the bottles. The remaining four bottles wavered for an instant but remained upright.

“Phooey!” said Corey.

“Sorry, son,” said the man who ran the bottle-throw booth. “Care to try again?” As he spoke, he picked up the fallen bottles and restacked them.

Corey dug into his pocket for three more quarters. Even though he thought seventy-five cents was way too much money just for a chance to throw a ball at a stack of wooden milk bottles, Corey was determined to win one of the stuffed dinosaurs that hung from the ceiling of the booth.

“You aren’t doing it again, are you?” asked Nicholas. “You’ve already lost four times.” He finished his corn dog and wiped the mustard from his mouth with his sleeve.

“I want that Tyrannosaurus.”

“It would be cheaper to go to the toy store and buy one.”

Corey wished Nicholas wouldn’t be so practical. It spoiled Corey’s grand dream of telling everyone how he won the giant stuffed dinosaur at the fair. Won it! For free! Just by throwing a ball and knocking over some wooden milk bottles.

“Win a dinosaur!” yelled the man, as a group of boys approached the booth. “Only seventy-five cents to win one of these giant, authentic, stuffed dinosaurs.”

“Let’s go ride the roller coaster,” Nicholas said.

“I’m going to try one more time,” Corey said. He plunked his money on the counter. The man quickly swept it into his apron pocket and handed Corey another ball.

Corey licked his lips and rubbed the ball between his hands. Using his best Little League pitching form, he flung the ball toward the stack of bottles. This time, the ball hit exactly where
he aimed, square in the middle of the red spot. The top three bottles flew off and all of the bottom bottles except one toppled immediately. That one rocked back and forth so violently that the top of the bottle hit the floor before it straightened again. Then it rocked slower and slower until it finally stopped in an upright position.

“Sorry, son,” said the man. “Care to try again?”

“I hit the spot!” Corey said. “I hit right in the middle.”

“Must have been a shade to one side,” said the man.

“It wasn’t! I hit dead center!”

“Win a dinosaur!!” yelled the man, covering up Corey’s voice. “Step right up and try your luck. Only seventy-five cents for a genuine, authentic stuffed dinosaur.”

“I should have won, shouldn’t I, Nicholas? That ball hit right smack where it was supposed to.”

“I wasn’t watching,” Nicholas admitted. “Just as you threw it, that kid tripped and dropped his ice-cream cone and I got distracted.” Nicholas pointed to where a woman comforted a crying boy. A chocolate ice-cream cone lay in the sawdust at the boy’s feet.

A man standing near the boy said, “Don’t cry, little boy. I’ll give you some money to buy another ice-cream cone.” He reached toward his back pants pocket and then began frantically searching all of his pockets. “It’s gone,” he said. “My wallet is gone.”

Corey and Nicholas looked at each other in surprise. “Another robbery?” Corey said.

CHAPTER
5

COREY LOOKED
around for the man with the shopping bag but did not see him. A group of curious people now surrounded the crying child, his mother, and the frantic man.

“I had my wallet when I bought my ticket to get in,” the man said to no one in particular, “and I got it out to use my telephone credit card awhile ago.”

“You probably left your wallet in the phone booth,” suggested the woman with the little boy. “I did that once.”

“Maybe it’s still there,” the man said. He hurried away.

“Let’s go ride the roller coaster,” Nicholas said.

“That bottle guy is cheating,” Corey said. “One of those bottles is rigged so it won’t fall over no matter where the ball hits. We ought to spy on that man and see how he does it and report him to the Fair Board. I bet nobody ever wins a dinosaur. Those same dinosaurs have probably been hanging there for a million years.”

“That’s why he calls them authentic,” said Nicholas. “If we’re going to ride the roller coaster before my mom comes back, we’d better get going.”

Corey shoved his hands in his pockets and stomped away from the bottle-throw booth. He
did
want to ride the roller coaster and he knew that if he and Nicholas waited until Nicholas’s mother was with them, she might say no. Mrs. Warren had allowed the boys to go off on their own while she went to the flower exhibit only after they promised to stay together and to meet her in exactly one hour. She did not make them promise not to go on any scary rides but they both knew it was only because she hadn’t thought of it.

In addition to the Ferris wheel, they had already ridden The Giant Lobster Claw and the Tilt-a-Whirl. Corey screamed so much on The Giant Lobster Claw that his throat hurt but he didn’t mind. Half the fun of going on a scary ride was being able to scream as loudly as possible. If there was a prize for Best Screamer at the Fair, Corey was certain he would win it.

While they waited in line for the roller coaster, they ate strawberry ice-cream cones and looked across the midway toward The River of Fear. A wooden stairway led to a platform that was as high as the top of the Ferris wheel. People climbed the stairs and waited on the platform to begin the ride.

“The River of Fear ride is working again,” Corey said. Earlier, there had been a rope at the bottom of the stairs, with a
CLOSED
sign hanging from it.

A recorded spiel boomed from speakers at the top of the platform: “Experience a death-defying descent down Whiplash Waterfall! Travel through the Tunnel of Terror! Meet the monsters of Mutilation Mountain! Are you brave enough to ride
The River of Fear?
YES
!! Astonish your friends! Climb the platform now and begin the journey of a lifetime.
RIDE THE RIVER OF FEAR
!!”

“After we do the roller coaster,” Corey said, “let’s ride The River of Fear.”

“My mom will have a heart attack if she sees us up there.”

“She’ll have a heart attack if she sees us on the roller coaster, too.”

“True. She still wants me to ride the little fire trucks in kiddieland.”

Corey laughed. He knew Nicholas was exaggerating but he also knew Mrs. Warren would never allow the boys to go on anything as exciting and dangerous-sounding as The River of Fear ride. Since The River of Fear was enclosed, it was impossible to tell, without going on it, exactly how scary it was. For Corey, that was part of the appeal.

The boys got in the roller coaster car, buckled the safety strap, and pulled the metal bar forward. As the car climbed, swooped, climbed again, turned, and plunged toward the ground, Corey closed his eyes and screamed and screamed and screamed. This was great! Ellen could probably hear him screaming clear across the fairgrounds.

When the ride ended, he turned to Nicholas and tried to say, “Let’s do it again,” but he was so hoarse the words didn’t come out. Maybe his mother was right; he should not have screamed quite so much.

One look at Nicholas told him that Nicholas wouldn’t want to ride again, anyway. All the color had drained out of Nicholas’s face and he had one hand clamped over his mouth.

Corey climbed out of the car. When Nicholas started to stand, he swayed and sat down again, resting his head on the
metal bar. Corey helped Nicholas out of the ride. Nicholas walked bent over, holding his stomach. There was a small picnic area nearby and Nicholas staggered to one of the picnic tables, sat on a bench, and leaned his head on his arms.

A stand selling curly fries stood next to the picnic area. Corey sniffed the air and decided to buy some. He loved to dip the spirals of deep-fat-fried potatoes into catsup and eat them.

He carried the heaping container of curly fries to the picnic table, along with a paper cup filled with catsup.

Nicholas still had his head down. Corey nudged him. When Nicholas looked up, Corey held out the curly fries and croaked, “Want some?”

Nicholas looked as if Corey had offered him poison. He shook his head violently and turned the other way, so he couldn’t see Corey eat.

Corey munched the curly fries, hoping Nicholas would feel better soon. He also hoped his voice would come back before they rode The River of Fear. It wouldn’t be as much fun to be scared if he couldn’t scream.