Box of Shocks Read Free Page A

front steps are mostly broken and rotten. I can’t see any lights on in the house—only a dull glow coming from somewhere deep inside.
    I carefully climb the rotting steps and edge closer to the door. I take three more deep breaths. It would be easy to turn back, but instead, I say under my breath, “Here goes nothing,” and give the door three sharp knocks. My tongue feels all dry and sandpapery. When I try to shout, “Trick or treat!” I sound like a parrot with laryngitis.
    I wait. As I wait, every few seconds I look behind me in case something might be sneaking up from behind. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. Maybe they have a pet boa constrictor that hasn’t been fed in a few months. Or maybe there are giant black widow spiders or wild dogs with rabies. It doesn’t hurt to keep an eye out.
    I listen for the sound of someone coming to the door. At first, there’s nothing, but then I hear a thumping sound. It turns out to be my own heart! I should run for my life, but I don’t. I just stand there, squeezing my pillow case so tightly the palms of my hands are getting all sweaty.
    Maybe no one’s home. Maybe no one even lives here.
    But then, I hear something…and it’s coming from inside the house. An uneven thump-thump , pause, thump-thump, pause, thump-thump , pause. It’s getting louder! That means it’s getting closer to the front door!
    A voice in my head screams, “RUN! RUN! RUN!” That would be the smart thing to do. I could catch up with Reggie, Grayson and Karl and make it a normal Halloween night. But I can’t leave empty-handed. I’ve got to get something for my Box of Shocks. This is no time to run off like a headless chicken.
    I see the doorknob slowly turn, and then the door starts to move! It opens very slowly, the hinges creaking and groaning like they haven’t moved in a hundred years. The door opens a few inches, then stops.
    Okay. Now what? I wait a few more seconds and then, sliding out through the gap in the doorway, comes a pale, skinny arm with a bony hand. Gnarled fingers with yellow cracked fingernails hold a Halloween candy wrapped in orange plastic.
    What is this thing? My first guess is zombie . With an arm like that, what else could this thing be but a genuine, real-life zombie? There are other possibilities, like some weird science experiment gone really wrong. This could be Frankenstein’s ugly cousin, or maybe Dracula’s great-grandma. Who knows? Who cares? This is exactly what I came for. Exactly what I hoped for. I just have to get up the guts to open my loot bag and hope the creepy hand drops the candy in.
    My hands are shaking as I hold the pillowcase out— closer…closer…closer. I brace myself, ready to run for my life if the door suddenly opens and something comes after me with a machete or a chainsaw or a set of fangs.
    Very slowly, the gnarled fingers uncurl and the candy drops into my loot bag. I pull the bag back with a jerk, spin around and leap from the top step all the way to the bottom. My feet barely touch the ground as I charge down the walkway.
    Don’t ask me why, but I stop. Glancing back, I see the door’s still open, the gangly arm still hanging out. The bony hand looks like a drooping flower.
    â€œThank you!” I shout. Very slowly, the hand lifts and gives me a wave. Yes, it’s definitely a wave! Do zombies wave? I wonder. Would Frankenstein’s ugly cousin bother to wave? How about Dracula’s great-grandma? Probably not. Whatever it belongs to, the hand slides back inside and the door closes with a thud. I head for the sidewalk, only now I’m not running.
    I could go up the next street and catch up with Karl, Reggie and Grayson. I could stay out and collect a huge bag of candy. But I don’t. I head for home because I’ve got everything I need.
    As I come through the back door, I find Mom and Dad in the kitchen, filling bowls