Rise of the Zombie Scarecrows Read online

  “Hey,” I said as he and his friend Rick Smith came up to our table. They were a couple of goofy grade-niners who thought they were cool. “Your grandpa doing okay now? Is he still in the hospital?”

  “Guess so,” he said, and then half scowled. “I think he was getting home today.”

  Weird.

  “So Tim and I just want to be zombie scarecrows,” Rick told us. “Do we still need to read lines? ’Cause I seriously suck at reading.”

  “Okay, cool, if you don’t want lines, you can be scarecrows,” I said, and they high-fived each other and walked away.

  The last one to audition was Garrett.

  “This is totally sick, dudes,” he said just before his reading. “My friends have always wanted to be in a play but didn’t want to learn all those lines. They want to be zombies. But I would love to be one of the humans.”

  “Well, there are only two main humans, and a few sidekick humans with minimal lines,” I explained. “So we’ll have to see how you do.”

  “Sweet,” he said. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him so pumped for anything outside of a football game.

  “Okay, so read for us, Garrett,” Cory told him.

  I was shocked. Garrett did a great job. I figured even Monica would have been impressed. And since she wasn’t on board anymore, I got to make the decision.

  “Okay, you can be Human One, and your friends are zombie scarecrows,” I told him, not even checking with Cory first. He knew exactly why. It was always wise to be on the good side of Garrett. And Garrett was so thrilled to get the part that he did a fist pump.

  While everyone waited, Cory and I put our heads together. Ten minutes later I made the announcement.

  “So we’ve chosen Garrett to be Human One,” I told them. He and his buds whooped, but there were a few grumbles from the rest of the kids. “And Helena will be Human Two.” I heard her clapping, along with a few other Theater Arts kids.

  “Henry will be the main zombie,” Cory told them.

  “Cool,” we heard Henry say. “I was hoping for that.”

  Then we told them who the rest of the humans and zombies would be. Everyone had a part, and there were more than twenty-five kids there. Which was perfect. Before they left, I gave the four-page script to everyone who had lines.

  “There’s one more page, but you can’t have it until Saturday, when we meet in the park at five,” I told them. “’Cause that would be a spoiler.” Yeah, right. Spoiler.

  Everyone was good with that. They all looked at their scripts, nodding and laughing and yacking about how epic this would be.

  I was sure glad they bought my spoiler story, because it was a great way to stall for time until I figured out the perfect ending.

  We got the main characters onstage after that and did a quick read through, and walked them through their parts a few times. Since the drama kids were practically pros, they nearly had their lines learned before we even finished. Except for Charlie. He didn’t have any lines because I made that jerk a zombie scarecrow.

  Before we all went our separate ways, we set up a text-messaging system to make sure everyone turned up on time Saturday. Pretty much everyone went home happy around five o’clock, including Cory.

  But not including miserable me.

  Chapter Four

  At least the rain had stopped and Cory and I didn’t have to bike home in it. Just as we were crossing town, Nicole pulled up in her cruiser. She was always at work! Her huge police dog, Prince, was panting over her shoulder in the backseat.

  “Hey, guys,” she said. “Everything okay?”

  “Not answering that question without my lawyer present,” I told her, and she smirked.

  She motioned me over to the car, and I leaned in from my bike seat and let Prince lick my hand. She let me get away with it, so I figured she needed something from me.

  “It happened again on Buddy Dalton’s street last night,” she told me, watching Cory over my shoulder. “This time two jerks pitched a pumpkin through the door when the people answered.”

  “But why did they even answer? It’s okay. I told Cory. He won’t blab anything.”

  Nicole rolled her eyes. “Of course you did. And who knows why they answered. Folks are way too trusting in Bridgewood. Almost never lock their doors. Have you heard anything around school? Any rumors? Anything at all?”

  “So now I’m a stool pigeon instead of a suspect?” I said. Cory started laughing.

  Nicole smirked again. “Whatever works,” she said. “So?”

  “Nope. Nothing. Oh, wait. Mr. Dalton’s grandson Tim showed up to audition for our movie this afternoon. That seemed weird.”

  “Dylan, you’re not supposed to be making that…” she began, and I held up one hand.

  “Relax. I took what you told me seriously, you know. Everything will be fine.”

  “Hope so,” she said with narrowed eyes. “Yeah, Timmy Dalton. Funny kid. No love lost between him and his grandpa, from what I’ve heard. I think Buddy’s closer to his step-grandson than he is to his flesh-and-blood one. Poor fellow’s lost two wives to cancer already.”

  “Wow, that sucks,” I said.

  “Keep your feelers up, okay, guys?” Nicole said, then drove off.

  “You kind of lied to her again,” Cory said.

  “That wasn’t technically a lie,” I told him. “And everything will be fine. Especially after we put my plan into action tonight. See ya at seven.”

  We high-fived each other and rode off in separate directions.

  When I got to the apartment, feeling starved for the first time in almost two days, Gran wasn’t there waiting for me. Neither was my supper. And I had to leave again in an hour.

  For a second I was really scared. Because Gran was almost always on the sofa knitting and watching tv, or cooking something awesome, or talking on the phone. I hunted all over the apartment, which took one minute. I was half afraid I’d find her passed out, like what had happened to Buddy Dalton. And I wouldn’t know how to save her. Maybe that first-aid course wasn’t such a bad idea.

  I was about to call Mom at Rocky’s Roadhouse when I heard the key rattle in the lock. And there was Gran, a big smile on her face. And a freshly roasted chicken from the supermarket.

  “Awesome! I’m ravenous,” I said, taking the bag from her. “How come you didn’t cook the chicken yourself, anyway?”

  The aroma was killing me. I could have eaten it all. There was a baguette and a bag of premade salad too. Which was strange. Gran hated wasting money on prepared stuff like this.

  “Funny you should ask,” she said as she hung up her coat. “I spent the afternoon with Buddy. He got home from the hospital today. I baked cookies and took them over after lunch.”

  “And you’re just getting back now?” I said as I ripped into the chicken.

  Gran gave me the sideways look. “Save some for me,” she said. “Oh, I’m finished knitting Monica’s socks. You can tell her that. The next pair is for Buddy.”

  Instead of answering, I chomped into a chicken leg. And wondered what the heck was going on with my grandmother. Because I’d never seen a smile so wide on her face. Ever.

  I did not want to think about who Monica had been sitting with at lunchtime in the cafeteria again that day. Or how close together they’d been sitting, all by themselves. Or how close their faces had been. Or how much I’d wanted to punch Charlie Wells when he’d come to the audition that afternoon. So making up an excuse to leave the house around seven that evening was a good distraction.

  “I’m just going over to Cory’s for a while, Gran,” I called as I headed for the door.

  “You’re hardly ever home these days, Dylan,” she said over her shoulder. “And I never know what you’re up to anymore either. Be careful, okay? I can never seem to stop worrying.”

  “Promise, Gran,” I said. These days she hardly ever let me leave without taking a potshot.

  As I biked over to Cory’s in the dusky light, my tires splashed thro
ugh puddles that I didn’t try to avoid. The neighborhood looked even creepier on a cool, misty evening like this, with all those soaking-wet scarecrows posed on the porches and lawns. It was the perfect backdrop for my awesome plan to bring down the troublemaker. I had a hunch that the pumpkin vandal, or possibly even vandals, planned on striking each night before Halloween. And that he, or they, had targeted Buddy Dalton’s street, for some reason. Now that he was home from the hospital, they might even hit up his house again. Which is why I had a scarecrow costume, black Halloween makeup from the dollar store and a camera stashed in my backpack, and why Cory had the same things in his.

  He was waiting for me at the park, in the shadows of the concession kiosk that was boarded up for the off-season.

  “You got everything?” I asked as I rode my bike over to him. “Did you hide those folding camp chairs in the right place?”

  “Yep, on the way here. Behind those bushes on Beechwood Lane,” he said. “Good thing it’s foggy and almost dark—nobody saw me. I grabbed a pair of my dad’s old trackpants and a hoodie. And one of his fishing hats. Our video camera too. How ’bout you?”

  He started hauling the clothes out of his backpack and pulling them on over his own.

  “Yeah, that was a challenge,” I told him. Then I opened my backpack and held up the stuff I’d found in a zippered bag at the back of the hall closet.

  “Seriously,” he said and started laughing. “How old is that crap anyway?”

  “I have no clue,” I said, pulling on a tattered wool trench coat and some sort of a Sherlock Holmes hat. “I think they used to belong to my grandpa, and he died a few years ago. So give me a break, okay?”

  “You smell like mothballs,” he said as we both spread black makeup on our faces.

  “Like I care. Okay, we gotta book it now. We don’t want to miss ’em.”

  “But what if Officer Vance is staking them out too?” Cory asked as we ran through the shadows toward Beechwood Lane.

  “We’ve got to take that chance,” I said. “Try to beat these suckers at their own game so they get caught. And then maybe Nicole won’t freak out when we make our zombie movie on Halloween night. Anyway, I’m sure she won’t park there. Might be cruising the ’hood though.”

  Sure enough, just as we reached Buddy Dalton’s street, we spotted headlights moving toward us, extremely slowly. I yanked Cory behind some bushes before the car could get too close. And yep, it was Nicole in her cruiser.

  “Whew, close one. We should be good for a bit now. Let’s go!” I said.

  In the next few minutes we set up the chairs in front of bushes on the lawns of two properties across from Buddy Dalton’s place, out of view of the homeowners. It was perfect. The closest streetlight was a few houses down, and there was enough of an orange glow that we’d be able to get good footage from our stakeout chairs.

  “Okay,” I told Cory. “Just sit there like one of those stuffed scarecrows, and don’t move. As soon as you see anything, start shooting. Trust me, they’ll be too busy to notice when we hold up our cameras. And keep your hat down low.”

  Cory nodded and sank into his chair, and I ran over to settle into mine. Then I sat shivering in the October chill, hoping this plan would work out. Fifteen minutes later, Nicole did another driveby. I sucked in my breath when I saw her car. But she cruised right on past without even noticing us. Her head was turned toward Buddy’s house when she went by, as though she was checking up on him. His porch light was on, but the house was dark.

  As soon as she rounded the corner and was out of sight, I saw two figures sneak along the street. They must have been waiting for the right moment, like we were. Well, the first thing I saw was the glowing jack-o’-lantern that looked as if it were floating in the dark. Which totally spooked me. That was when I turned my camera on and started shooting.

  The scarecrows kept to the shadows. Just like the one I’d seen the other night, they wore wide straw hats and baggy old scarecrow clothes. The taller one was carrying the pumpkin. I zoomed in as they approached. They were five houses away from us. Four houses. Three houses. My heart was in my throat, and the camera was shaking in my hand. They were only two houses away.

  And then the front door of the house beside Buddy’s burst open. A man came flying out.

  “I’ll get you, you sick little brats,” he yelled and started chasing them.

  The tall masked scarecrow pitched his pumpkin at the guy, and then they both started running. Really fast. I followed them with my camera. I got it all, every single bit, in that orange streetlight glow. And then the best thing happened. The short scarecrow’s straw hat flew off as they were zooming past me. And I got a head shot and gasped.

  The idiot wasn’t even wearing a mask. It was Buddy’s grandson, Tim Dalton!

  Chapter Five

  I kept on shooting until they were out of sight. I kept recording as the furious neighbor shook his fist at the empty street where the scarecrows had been. Then he picked up Tim’s straw hat and, cursing, went back into his house. And I sat there breathing hard for a few minutes, until I figured it was safe to move.

  “Cory,” I called in a loud whisper. “Can you even believe this? Did you get it all?”

  “Yep,” he called back. “Timmy freaking Dalton!”

  “Let’s get out of here fast and check out our footage at your place,” I said.

  We stashed the chairs in the bushes, then hoofed it along Beechwood Lane toward the park to pick up our bikes and backpacks. But we stopped dead at the park entrance.

  “Oh crap,” I said.

  “Double crap,” Cory said.

  Nicole’s cruiser was parked in front of the kiosk. In the dim park light, we could see her leaning against her cruiser door. Staring right at us. She had Prince on a leash.

  “We’re toast,” I said.

  “Should we just try and make a run for it?” Cory said.

  “Yeah, that’ll work,” I told him. “Give your head a shake.”

  “Hi, boys,” she called. “Are you having fun tonight? I think you dropped your pumpkin back there.” She held up a hunk of pumpkin flesh. God, she was good at her job.

  “It wasn’t us, Nicole,” I said, starting toward her and hoping Cory would follow. He did, but not as fast.

  She was shaking her head when we reached her.

  “Lock up your bikes, grab your backpacks, and climb in the backseat, guys,” she said. “I hope your parents won’t ground you for life.” Long scary pause. “I sure hope you don’t get charged with attempted murder either.”

  And that was about when Cory started crying.

  If it hadn’t been for our cameras and Buddy’s neighbor’s misplaced glasses, we would have been doomed. But with his vision blurred, Mr. Loughlin really couldn’t see what the scarecrow vandals had been wearing as he chased them. He couldn’t distinguish between them and us when he tried to describe them to Nicole. Plus we both still had our hats. And neither of them was straw. At the cop shop we handed our cameras over to Nicole. She got to see the footage of Tim and his friend—who was smart enough to wear a mask—at the very moment they were doing their dirty work. We were totally off the hook. And almost sort-of heroes.

  Of course, Tim ratted out the other scarecrow, Rick Smith. Tim also told Nicole that he couldn’t find a mask at home and had pulled his straw hat down low to hide his face. Guess he didn’t figure on having to run so fast that the hat would blow off. Real good plan, Timmy.

  But why? Why would they do it? Especially to Tim’s own grandfather!

  Rick denied the whole thing, we found out from Nicole on Thursday, my mom’s day off. She was visiting Mom when Cory and I got home from school.

  “You have no idea how lucky you and Cory were,” Nicole told us over mugs of tea.

  Cory just sat there wide-eyed, holding his mug and nodding.

  “You were pretty lucky yourself,” I reminded her. “That the two of us were there with our cameras. Right, Cory?”

  Cory stopped
nodding and stared at Nicole like he was afraid to hear her answer.

  “Huh, that’s debatable,” Nicole said, shaking her head and trying not to grin.

  “Bold thing,” Gran said, poking me with a skinny knitting needle.

  “Ouch! Watch where you’re sticking that, Gran!”

  “Jeez, Dylan,” Mom said. “Are you kidding me? You think you two solved this thing?”

  “It’s true,” I told them. “You’d still be looking for them if it wasn’t for us, right, Nicole? So it’s okay to do our movie now. Right?”

  She nodded and sighed and grinned some more. “But don’t breathe a word about Tim,” she warned. “The family doesn’t want Buddy to know it was him. It would break his heart.”

  “No doubt,” I said. I wondered again why anyone would do something so dumb.

  “Little jerk,” Gran grumbled. “I’d like to get my hands on that kid.”

  By the look of fury on her face, I figured Timmy Dalton should be watching his back.

  And better yet, the photographer from the local paper came by to take a picture of Cory and me later on Thursday evening.

  “You again, huh,” he said. “Why am I not surprised? Where’s your girlfriend, Monica Buckley? I hear you were with her the other night when she did cpr on Buddy Dalton.”

  Heat prickled the back of my neck, and I felt myself flushing. My clearly ex-girlfriend had totally avoided me at school again that day. And had sat with Charlie again too. I tried to cover up. “So why didn’t you print my name?” I said. “Why was I just a friend?”