Tales from the Haunted Mansion Vol. 1: The Fearsome Foursome (15 page)

Steve glanced over his shoulder. He could tell from the smirk on Rolly’s pudgy little face that he thought he had the deal breaker. “Name it.”

“The loser has to publicly address the winner as His Royal Highness. Forever.”

That made Steve laugh. “Fine by me. So? We ready to do this?”

By that point, the crowd had increased by exponential proportions. Kids seemed to be everywhere: standing on fences, piled on shoulders. How had that happened? Did they bus them in from other schools? Still, it was no skin off Steve’s back. He welcomed an audience and proceeded with the formal introduction: “I dare you to…” He paused and the crowd leaned in—those same kids who’d once thought him the coolest. And soon would again.

Rolly was all out of patience. “Well?”

Steve suppressed his smile. “I dare you to…spend one full hour locked in a coffin.” Then came the smile. He knew he had the ultimate dare, and an audible gasp told him the crowd agreed. But Rolly’s reaction—
that
was the kicker. His knees buckled. Just for a second, but long enough for Steve to notice.

Yes, he was afraid. Rolly Price was human, after all. “Yes or no? Do you accept the dare?” Steve demanded. Beads of sweat trickled from Rolly’s forehead. Now the crowd was chanting: “Accept! Accept! Accept!”

Rolly thought about it. He thought,
Easy for them. They don’t have to spend two seconds locked in a coffin, let alone one hour!
He knew he couldn’t accept Steve’s dare. Things had gone far enough already. But there’s something about peer pressure that makes smart people do incredibly stupid things. And before Rolly knew what he was saying, the words “I accept your dare” slipped off his tongue.

The crowd stopped chanting and Steve stopped smiling. That was unexpected. Upon hearing the dare, Rolly was supposed to melt into a glob of jelly. Mop him up, stick him in a jar, and send him back to wherever he came from! But no. The new kid didn’t back down. Not really.

“I accept. With one more condition.”

“I figured there might be. Name it, buddy boy.”

Rolly pulled out his trump card. “The coffin—it has to be real. Not that fake cardboard junk they sell at Parties 4 Smarties. If you can’t provide a real, honest-to-goodness coffin, then your dare is a dud—a forfeit—declaring me the winner.” Rolly had thrown the challenge back into Steve’s lap. Real coffins were expensive, not to mention difficult to come by. There was no conceivable way a middle school kid could come up with a real one. But Steve was holding a wild card of his own. An ace in the hole. Like a skeleton in the grave.

“I got a real coffin.”

Rolly saw at once that Steve wasn’t bluffing. “H-how? W-what? W-where?” he stammered.

“My cousin Drew. He drives a hearse for the Davis Family Funeral Home.” Rolly literally gulped. The “literally” comes in because you rarely hear anyone gulp in real life. It’s about as rare as a double take.

“I wouldn’t want to get your cousin in any trouble,” said Rolly. Kind of a weak retort.

“Let me worry about the Drew-meister. You just worry about showing up on time. This Saturday. After hours. Drew has total access. Including a coffin with your name on it.”

Ellie snuggled up next to Steve, as if she’d always been there. The rest of the crowd shifted to his side of the blacktop. Once again, it was Rolly against the world. Steve extended his hand. “Saturday night we end this.” They shook on it, sealing the dare.

For Steve, Saturday night couldn’t get there fast enough, because all the preparations had been made.
What preparations? Oh, you’ll find out. And you’ll be sorry when you do.

Well, Saturday night arrived—as it always does—and Steve found himself waiting outside the Davis Family Funeral Home, as arranged. The sign had just flickered off; they were closed for the evening. The funny thing about funeral homes is that most of them look like regular houses, where regular families might live. Except they aren’t. This one was painted all white, with black shutters and matching trim. Not very menacing in the daytime. But daylight wouldn’t be returning for another eight hours.

For now, there was only night.

Steve checked the time. Rolly was late, three whole minutes. Maybe he wouldn’t show and the dare would be declared a forfeit. But Steve was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. He needed Rolly to show.
Oh, yes, foolish reader, this was going to be the dare—make that the
scare
—of the century.

Another minute passed and Steve grew anxious. It didn’t help that those black shutters were now flapping, and what was that other sound?
Clump-clump-clump.
That one he couldn’t explain. It must be nerves, and anyway,
where was Rolly Price
?

A hand crawled up Steve’s back, then slithered insect-like along his shoulder blades. Steve didn’t really want to turn, but he had to look. He slowly twisted his head to find…Rolly Price, all smiles, standing behind him. “Little jumpy there, Steve-o. What’s the matter? Didn’t think I’d show?”

Steve located his cool voice. “You’re late.” He pointed to the lot behind the funeral home. “Thataway. Back entrance.”
Where the clients come to stay, though there’s always room for one more…

“Lead the way, Steve-o,” said Rolly. And that’s just what Steve did.

A company hearse was parked at the far end of the lot, next to a roped-off section where some construction had been going on. A rail-thin man in a chauffeur’s uniform was leaning against the driver’s door reading a newspaper. He glanced up as they rounded the corner, and acknowledged Rolly with a tip of his cap.

Rolly realized something: “That must be…”

“Cousin Drew,” confirmed Steve. He pointed to the back entrance, shrouded by a black-and-white awning. Rolly hesitated. He had never been inside a funeral parlor before. He’d been lucky that way. On that night, his luck ran out.

They entered through a narrow corridor, which expanded into a waiting area. There were some cushiony chairs and a fancy red carpet. Oh, and the lights were kept low. No need for a hefty electric bill. The dead didn’t require much light.

Steve pointed out the three doors leading to the separate viewing rooms. Rolly could guess what was behind them. Coffins, stuffed with dead folks! Steve tapped the sign in front of viewing room three. It read
THE PRICE FUNERAL
.

Rolly acted brave, with an emphasis on
acted
. “Oh, boy, that was unexpected.” And actually, it was.

Steve unlocked the door and escorted Rolly inside. There were three rows of folding chairs facing a stage, and for a second, Rolly closed his eyes and made a silent wish:
Please, let it be a Taylor Swift concert
. But a concert wasn’t on the agenda. At least, not one for the living. As they made their way down the center aisle, Rolly’s chest grew tight. The star of the show had revealed itself: an oblong box, made of polished steel, with a faux wood exterior. It was a real coffin, just like Steve had promised, lying horizontally on a wooden riser. The lid was open, inviting Rolly in.

Steve stepped onto a kneeling bench and looked inside. “Check it out, Roll. Your new home.” In the same moment, the lights flickered: a power surge. “That wind’s really acting up tonight,” said Steve. Rolly wondered if that wasn’t all a part of his grand scheme.

“Step right up, Mr. Price,” Steve said like a carnival barker. Rolly joined him on the bench. “What we have here is the Eternal Rest Deluxe Recliner.”

“What do you mean? They name these things?”

“Of course they name them. They name everything. Cars, mattresses, hot wings. What we have here is the Rolls-Royce of coffins.” He patted the inside. “Blue velvet interior. Matching throw and pillows. Fully adjustable bedding.”

“Why?”

Steve didn’t understand the question. “Why what?”

“Why’s a dead guy need adjustable bedding?”

“They’re in there forever.” Steve displayed his best Fearsome Foursome smile. “You never know.”

“Never know
what
?”

“When you need to adjust,” Steve continued. “It’s guaranteed not to rot for ten years.”

Rolly raised his hand like he was in class. “Question: how would anybody know? I mean, does somebody inspect these things after they’re buried?”

Steve shrugged; he hadn’t thought about that. He slid his fingers under the lid, maneuvering a stainless steel catch. “Reinforced lock.” He clicked it into position with a reverberating
snap
. To Rolly, this seemed the strangest option of all. Again, he raised his hand.

“Question: why put locks on the outside? Are they worried a customer might crawl out and complain?”

Again, Steve flashed that ghoulish grin. This time with elaboration. “Don’t think so. You see, regulation depth is six feet under the ground. Even if you could open the lock, you’d still have all that dirt to deal with. All that dark, wet, worm-infested earth weighing you down. Two tons of it between you and the surface. You’d be going nowhere fast, Roll. Unless you had superstrength. You don’t have superstrength, do you?”

“The last time I checked, no.”

“Didn’t think so.” Steve held up his cell phone, setting a timer for exactly one hour. The moment of truth had arrived. He stepped down from the kneeling bench, inviting Rolly to take his place inside. “Ready to do this?”

Rolly lifted his leg to climb in. There was a natural hesitation. It wasn’t the sort of thing one usually did voluntarily.

“Wanna quit?” Steve goaded him. “Last chance, buddy boy.”

If Rolly had any doubts, Steve had just erased them. He lay flat inside the Eternal Rest Deluxe Recliner. Rolly had to admit it was pretty darn comfy.

Getting into the spirit of things, Rolly crossed his arms over his chest. Steve just shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that. Once the lid goes down, it’s a pretty tight squeeze. Folding your arms might constrict your breathing.”

Rolly sat straight up. “Really? Did you have to say that?” He was sweating big-time. All over the blue velvet interior.

Steve had him right where he wanted. “Ready to quit? I dare you to say the words…‘I quit.’”

That seemed to do it. “I got some words for you, Steve-o.” Rolly wiped off the sweat with his sleeve.

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“See you in an hour.” He reached up to detach the safety bar that propped open the lid. Steve got to it first, the genial host. “Don’t pull down on the safety bar. I will lower it for you.” And that’s what he did.

From inside the coffin, Rolly watched as the lid
slooooowly
came down, eclipsing the light. Now there was only darkness, Rolly’s sole comfort being his own labored breathing, amplified by the natural acoustics of the casket. That sound alone could drive one to madness. The intermittent puffs, growing smaller with each exhale. But being interred under the ground, that would be worse. Knowing that your loved ones were standing in their best shoes a mere six feet above you, unaware that you were still alive, and doing nothing to help out. As you lay there, boxed in like a sardine, with the knowledge that those cries you wasted used up what precious little air you had left. Oh, yes, that would cinch it. Being buried alive would be a fast pass to insanity.

“How we doing in there?” came a voice from the viewing room, interrupting Rolly’s morbid musings. It was Steve-o, of course. “Comfy cozy?”

“You want to keep it down? I’m trying to catch a little shut-eye in here.” Rolly sounded calm, and in fact, for a kid who had suffered an extreme panic attack in a janitor’s closet, he seemed uncommonly relaxed.

Steve snapped the lock in place, and in case Rolly had forgotten the sound, Steve cheerfully reminded him: “You’re locked in. There’s no escape. But the good news is a whole minute just went by. That means you only have fifty-nine more to go, buddy boy. I’m going to grab a smoothie. Want anything?”

“Strawberry-banana,” replied the voice from inside the Eternal Rest Deluxe Recliner, and a thought flashed through Steve’s mind: in the vast history of human existence, that might have been the only time the words
strawberry
and
banana
were said from inside a locked coffin.

Steve played a little drum solo on the lid. “You got it.” He heard Rolly shifting inside, providing him with immeasurable delight. Drew had entered and was silently observing from the top of the aisle. He exchanged knowing looks with his cousin, and Steve’s grin graduated from ghoulish to devious. He had something else in mind for Rolly. A plot so insidious Steve would be the talk of the middle school for years to come.

Drew went directly to the coffin. Rolly could hear something going on out there but couldn’t tell what it was.
But we can tell you:
Drew was assembling a dolly. “Hello? Who’s out there?” Rolly asked. Drew said nothing, whistling while he worked. He slid the coffin onto the dolly. It weighed a ton, with or without Rolly inside. “Hey! Where are you taking me?” Drew proceeded in silence, wheeling the coffin out to the parking lot. “Hellooooo! Someone’s alive in here!”

Well, that was the point, wasn’t it? That whole “fate worse than death” thing, as discussed ad nauseam. (Some more Latin for you, foolish reader. It means “If you say that one more time, I’ll vomit.” Loosely translated, of course.)

To really appreciate the terrors that went on next, you’d have to experience them from Rolly’s point of view.

For some of you, this next section won’t be pleasant. But the rest of you came for a reason. You’ve made it past a possessed baseball glove and an enchanted wishbone and an ancient sea beast. You might as well go the distance.

Rolly felt the dolly traveling across gravelly pavement. He could hear the sounds the night makes: the swirling wind along with its friends, the crickets. And then there was a feeling of unsteadiness as the coffin was lifted into a vehicle—
a hearse, of course
—followed by a short drive. Rolly felt each bump, every turn. Where were they taking him, and for what purpose?

The answer came just moments after the hearse stopped. Then, dread of all dreads: Rolly felt his body being lowered. One, two, three, four, five, six. Six feet under. It had to be a joke, right?
Ha-ha, very funny.
Except for the following sound, which was anything but a punch line.