Chain Letter Read Free Page A

surprisingly, she appeared more than willing to sacrifice Teddy to avoid the letter’s
     promised hurt.
    “I’ll have to do it at night,” Fran muttered. “I’ll need a ladder and a strong light.
     Ali, do you know when the janitors go home?”
    “You’re not serious?” Brenda asked. She addressed the ceiling. “She’s serious; the
     girl’s nuts.”
    “But Kipp has to get his letter within five days,” Fran moaned. “That means I have
     to paint the goat head and move my name and everything by Thursday.” Fran grabbed
     her hand. “Will you help me, Ali?”
    “What kind of nut could have written these things?” Alison wondered aloud. The tone
     was of a psychotic with delusions of godhood. A genuine madman could be dangerous.
     Now was the time to go to the police . . . If only that wasn’t out of the question.
     “What did you say, Fran? Oh, yeah, sure I’ll help you. But not to paint the goat’s
     head. We need to tellthe others. Then we’ll decide what to do. Who knows, one of the others might burst
     out laughing and admit that it was just a joke after all.”
    “I can see it now.” Brenda nodded confidently, pouring another glass of milk and ripping
     into a packet of Ding Dongs.
    “I hope so,” Fran said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue and blowing her nose.
    “So do I,” Alison whispered, picking up the off-purple envelope and the pale green
     letter. The line: “What is required of you—at present—is a small token of obedience,”
     bothered her. Painting a goat’s head on their school mascot was no major demand. Some
     people might even consider it humorous. Perhaps all the demands would be similar.
     However, when they were all in Column II, the chain would be complete. Then maybe
     it would start over again, and the “small token of obedience” might no longer be so
     small.

Chapter Two
    E verything looks the same, Kipp,” Tony Hunt said, standing at the window of his second
     story bedroom, looking west into the late sun. Some kids were playing a game of touch
     football in the street; their younger brothers and sisters sat on the sideline sidewalks
     on skateboards and tricycles, cheering for whoever had the ball—a typical tranquil
     scene in a typical Los Angeles suburb. Yet for Tony it was as though he were looking
     over a town waiting for the bomb to drop. The houses, trees and kids were the same
     as before, only seen through dirty glasses. He’d felt this way before, last summer
     in fact, felt this overwhelming desire to go back in time, to yesterday even, when
     life had been much simpler. Chances were the chain letter was a joke; nevertheless,
     it was a joke he’d never laugh over.
    “We won’t have such a nice view out the bars of our cell, that’s for sure,” Kipp Coughlan
     said, sitting on the bed.
    “I’m telling my lawyer I won’t settle for a penitentiary without balconies,” Tony
     said.
    “A while back, they used to hang convicts from courthouse balconies.”
    Tony turned around, taking in with a glance the plain but tidy room; he was not big
     on frills, except for his poster of a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, which hung on the wall at the foot of his bed and which greeted him
     each morning with an erotic smile. “You know, we’re not being very funny,” he said.
    “Really. Has Alison gotten hold of Joan?”
    “Not yet. Joan’s away with her parents at Tahoe. She wasn’t at school today. But she
     should be home soon.”
    “She’ll freak when she hears about the letter,” Kipp said.
    Tony thought of Joan, her angel face and her vampish temperament, and said, “That’s
     an understatement.”
    “Will Neil be here soon?”
    Tony nodded, stepping to a chair opposite his bed, sitting down and resting his bare
     feet on a walnut case where he stowed his athletic medals and trophies. It drove his
     mom nuts that he kept the awards locked up where no one could see them; he liked to
     think it was beneath his dignity to show