Poltergeist Read Free

later, Mister Rogers was singing again. Everyone groaned. Shaw actually wrung his hands. Steve walked resolutely over to the window, pointed his remote control box, and fired.
    From across the yard, a distant voice roared angrily. “Don’t start, Freeling!”
    Steve stormed out the sliding glass door to the patio at the side of the house, and yelled over his fence to a man standing in the back doorway of the house behind them. “We got a game going on over here, Tuthill!”
    “My kids wanna watch ‘Mister Rogers’!” Tuthill yelled back.
    “I don’t care what you’re watching, as long as you show a little mercy with that thing!”
    “Move your set!” neighbor Tuthill’s voice rang out before he slammed his back door.
    “Move yours!”
    “Mister Rogers” went on again just as Steve reentered the den. The assembled moaned; Shaw tossed a handful of Doritos in the air. Furiously, Steve aimed, and fired his remote once more. A muffled “goddammit” could be heard from the Tuthills.
    Carol Anne, meanwhile, made it upstairs and slipped into Dana’s room. Dana lay prone on the floor, having a Serious Conversation with Heather and Serena.
    “Hi, Dana, wanna hear my dream?” Carol Anne asked.
    “Hi, squirt. Not right now; we’re talking.”
    “Can I listen to your heart?”
    “I haven’t got a heart, punk.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “How gross this place is.”
    “I don’t think it’s gross.”
    “That’s because everything about it has the mentality of a five-year-old—which is fine if you’re five, squirt, but it’s a drag for the big kids.” She sat up, unbuttoned her shirt. “Okay, here, you can listen to my heart.”
    Robbie suddenly burst into the room with a clue in his hand. Dana closed her shirt and shouted. “Robbie! Mom!”
    “Jeez, take it easy, I thought the treasure was here. It’s only you trolls, though.” He ran out as she threw a shoe.
    “Come on, let’s go to the drugstore.”
    The three girls got up and left.
    Carol Anne wandered down the hall toward her parents’ room.
    Robbie sat on the stairs, studying his clue: Between the frill and the grill . He thought at first it had meant between the frilly apron on the living room couch and the grill of the heating vent against the wall. But there’d been nothing around there. He’d looked all around the kitchen grill, even though there were no frills there at all. Then he’d gone up to Dana’s room, which was full of frills, but of course had no grills—and anyway, creepy Dana was there. So now what? Bill Moone already had his prize—a great ray gun that sprayed red light with D batteries. So where was this frill and grill stuff?
    The barbecue grill outside! That was it! It was right next to that real frilly tablecloth Mom dumped over a pile of bricks way out back. He jumped up and ran downstairs, tore out the side door, and across the grassy yard. Some kids had found their prizes, and were gloating smugly in the living room; others were still hunting all over the house, up-ending pillows, looking under rugs; others had given up, and now either played or moped. Robbie made it out to the grill, looked inside it, behind it, under it. Nothing. He went to the cloth over the bricks, peeled it back, poked around between the gritty cinderblocks until . . . wait . . . yes, over there, wedged in among those three—with the excitement of impending triumph, he reached into the little cove, put his hand around the object . . . and jumped back with a yelp. Something had bitten him.
    He looked at his hand, more startled than anything else. His index finger was a bit red, and still stung. He peered back into the dark collection of upright bricks at the obscure thing—whatever it was. There . . . did it move? Robbie picked up the barbecue poker in his right hand, raised the poker over his head, kicked away one low wall of bricks, and jumped back.
    It was the clown doll.
    His old stuffed clown doll, grinning devilishly, a