Spell of the Screaming Jokers Read Free Page A

swimming before my eyes.
    And I still saw that ugly joker. Saw its evil grin. Saw it move.
    How could a single card be so frightening?
    How?

5

    â€œI wish we’d left earlier,” Louisa grumbled as we walked along Fear Street in the dark. “I hate this street at night.”
    â€œIt seems like the streetlights are always broken here,” I complained. “I can’t see a thing!”
    â€œWe could always cut through Mrs. Murder’s yard again,” Frankie suggested.
    â€œNo way!” I said. Then I heard something. “Hey, listen. What’s that?”
    I glanced in the direction of Mrs. Marder’s house. But it was too dark to see anything.
    â€œI hear something rattling,” Jeff whispered.
    Rattling—that was the sound I heard. Rattling—like someone shaking a can full of pebbles.
    â€œI hear it,” Louisa agreed. “Listen. It’s getting louder.”
    My eyes searched the shadows along Fear Street.
    â€œHey!” Frankie yelled suddenly. “Watch it, buddy!”
    I whirled around.
    I saw Frankie sprawled on the sidewalk. A small figure bent over him. A kid. He must have run into Frankie and knocked him down. Now he said something to Frankie.
    â€œFrankie!” Louisa called. “Are you okay?”
    Frankie didn’t answer.
    The figure straightened up. He wasn’t very tall. He wore a green hat with a brim pulled down low over his forehead. I couldn’t make out his face under the brim. The only thing I could see clearly was the stick he held in his hand.
    I ran toward Frankie—and the shadowy figure shook his stick fiercely. Something rattled inside. He let out a scream—and raced away into the darkness.
    â€œFrankie, are you okay?” I asked. “Who was that?”
    â€œI don’t know, some little kid,” Frankie groaned. “Boy, he sure slammed into me hard!” He stood up and rubbed his arm.
    The four of us huddled close together as we walked along Fear Street.
    â€œHe said something weird,” Frankie began as we headed home. “It sounded like ‘We shake the skull . . . . ’ No. That wasn’t it.”
    He frowned, trying to remember. “I know. ‘We shake the skull with eyes that gleam.’ ”
    â€œThat doesn’t make any sense,” Jeff said.
    Frankie shrugged. “That’s what it sounded like.”
    â€œThat can’t be what he said. Maybe he said something like, sorry to shake you up,” Louisa suggested.
    â€œNo. That’s not what he said.” Frankie sounded definite.
    That didn’t stop Louisa. “Maybe the skull part was about how he hoped you didn’t crack your skull.”
    Frankie groaned. “Louisa. Do me a favor. Stop guessing.”
    We didn’t talk the rest of the way to Frankie’s house. I had to admit, Louisa’s explanations were pretty lame.
    Frankie paused on his porch. “Listen,” he said. “I’m sorry about getting you guys in trouble.”
    By the porch light I saw that Frankie was pretty scraped up. The side of his face was raw where he’d hit the pavement. And there was a strange, dark bruise above his wrist. It looked almost as if it were in the shape of a flower. Or something.
    â€œFrankie, that bruise . . . ” I pointed to his arm.“It’s shaped like . . . like a club,” I said, suddenly seeing it.
    â€œA club?” Frankie studied the bruise. “What do you mean?”
    â€œYou know—the card suit,” I said. “Like spades, or hearts.”
    â€œHuh?” He stared at me.
    â€œBrit, I think you’re losing it,” Louisa told me.
    Maybe. But I wasn’t so sure.
    First—there was that hideous joker. Now—the club-shaped mark on Frankie’s arm. Was I imagining them because I didn’t like cards?
    Or was there something going on?
    Something bad?

6

    â€œT ruth or