Spell of the Screaming Jokers Read Free Page B

dare!” Louisa challenged me in the cafeteria on Monday. “Do you think Frankie is cute?”
    â€œSpike is cute,” I replied, reminding her of what she said about the rat. “Frankie is—interesting.”
    â€œHe’s cute,” Louisa told me. “But he needs a haircut.”
    â€œYou always want to fix everybody’s hair!” I exclaimed.
    I checked my watch. Oh, no—I was late! I bolted from my seat.
    â€œHey! Where are you going?” Louisa asked.
    â€œI almost forgot! I have to meet Frankie,” I explained. “Mr. Emerson wants us to hang acommunity-service club poster. Lunch period is the only time we can do it.”
    â€œYou and Frankie, huh?” Louisa waggled her eyebrows at me.
    I rolled my eyes. “Louisa, quit it! Meet me by my locker after school, okay?” I gathered up my books.
    â€œRight.” Louisa nodded. “Tell Frankie I said hi!”
    I charged out of the cafeteria. In the main hallway I spotted Frankie walking with the principal. Mr. Emerson had a large roll of poster paper under one arm. I hurried to meet them.
    â€œBrittany.” Mr. Emerson smiled. “I’ve been hearing about your visit with Max on Saturday. His mother said you really cheered him up. That’s terrific! Maybe your visits will help him get well faster.”
    â€œI hope so,” I said. And I did hope Max felt better. But I had another reason too. Between Max and my little brother, I was really sick of cards!
    Mr. Emerson showed us where he wanted us to put up the poster. He handed me a roll of masking tape.
    â€œMr. Stock from maintenance set this up for you,” he said, pointing to a five-rung ladder. “If the tape runs out, there’s another roll on my desk. Help yourself.” Then he left.
    â€œOkay, let’s see how high I can hang this baby.” Frankie started up the ladder with the poster.
    â€œI’ll make tape rolls,” I offered. “You can stick them under the edges of the poster. That way the tape won’t show.”
    I began tearing off strips of masking tape and rolling them with the sticky side out.
    When Frankie was on the fourth rung of the ladder, he reached down for a tape roll.
    I handed it to him—and caught a glimpse of his arm.
    â€œFrankie!” I exclaimed. “That bruise!”
    The bruise had darkened. Its outline had become more definite. Now it looked exactly like a black three-leaf clover. Like a club.
    â€œYeah. It’s weird.” Frankie took the tape. “You know what else? It doesn’t hurt. Bruises definitely hurt. And this one doesn’t.”
    We both stared at the strange mark on Frankie’s arm. “Maybe it’s dirt,” I said.
    â€œThat’s what I thought,” he replied. “But I tried scrubbing it. It won’t come off.”
    If it isn’t a bruise and it isn’t dirt—what is it? I wondered as I made tape loops.
    I came to the end of the roll. “Hey, Frankie. Don’t move!” I ordered. “We’re out of tape.”
    I hurried around the corner to the principal’s office to get another roll. As I reached for the tape on his desk, I heard a humming sound. Had Mr. Emerson left his computer on?
    I checked. No.
    A fan? No.
    I shrugged and left the office.
    In the hallway I could still hear the sound. But it changed from a hum to a hiss.
    Suddenly I pictured Mrs. Marder’s hissing, snarling cats. What an odd thing to think about.
    As I walked down the corridor, the sound grew louder.
    Now it didn’t sound so much like hissing—more like rattling.
    Like the sound we heard last night on Fear Street.
    I hurried down the hall.
    The rattling grew louder.
    I started to run.
    â€œFrankie!” I called.
    He didn’t answer.
    Then I heard a crash!
    And a horrible scream!
    â€œFrankie!” I shouted. “Are you okay? Frankie!”

7

    I skidded around the corner. Then I screeched to