Michael Teitelbaum - The Scary States of America

Youre probably wondering how an ordinary kid like me came to be the official collector of all things weird and scary in the USA. With all the strange and unexplained stuff happening out there, youd think wed have a whole army of investigators trying to uncover the truth. But unless theyre keeping a really low profile, I havent seen any teams of ghostbusters or psychic detectives prowling my neighborhood. So I gave myself the job after a terrifying experience convinced me that someone needs to be keeping an eye on the paranormal in this country. This story, like the others in this book, is true.

So before we get into monsters and ghosts and UFOs, lets talk about something truly frighteningthe fourth grade. Bullies, atomic wedgies, stolen lunch money it was a real house of horrors.

Did I mention bullies?

Charlie and Steve were the cool kids, and they thought I was a total geek. Maybe it was my obsession with comic books, and collecting baseball cards, and watching every sci-fi show on TV. At nine years old, I wasnt too worried about my image. Now that Im twelve, I think Ive wised up a little (though I still like all that stuff).

Anyway, Charlie and Steve ended up in my gym class, and man, did I hate gym class. Some steroid-pumped ex-jock former marine commanding us to climb the rope, shoot the ball, lift the weight. They had the nerve to call that guy a teacher?

Mr. Rockwell was his name. He loved to shout at me. Specter! he would yell. Get off your rear and gimme twenty, boy!

So I was reading a comic book when I was supposed to be doing push-ups. What about reading being exercise for your brain?

And, of course, he treated Charlie and Steve like future Olympic champions. They were good at every sport. After Rockwell was done yelling at me, theyd take their turn in the locker room.

Hey, shrimp, wheres the rest of you?

Nice legs, Specter. Did you swallow a couple of broomsticks?

So I was small for my age. Sue me.

One day, I was the last to finish getting dressed after gym.

Or so I thought.

As I tied my shoes, Charlie and Steve suddenly appeared on either side of me.

Whats the matter, Specter? Charlie cackled. Forget how to dress yourself?

Steve laughed his goony laugh.

Well, Im not lucky enough to have Steve here to dress me, like you, I replied, realizing it was a mistake as the words left my mouth. Its fun being a wisecracker, but you have to make sure you have an easy escape route. And I didnt.

Charlie grabbed me by the front of my shirt and slammed me into a bank of lockers. Pain shot down my back. Then Steve punched me in the stomach and I felt like I was going to barf.

You think youre funny, huh, shrimp? Charlie snarled, shoving me back into the line of metal doors. Howd you like it if I smacked your head into one of these lockers? You think that would be funny?

Hey, Charlie, maybe hed like to see locker six-fifteen, Steve said, giggling. Up close!

Good idea, said Charlie. A sick smile spread across his stupid face.

I froze in terror. Every kid in the school knew about locker 615. That locker had some kind of evil history attached to it. I didnt really know what it was, or how far back it went. Everyone says the school covered it up pretty fast. They even replaced all the lockers in the boys locker room, hoping that people would forget.

But something bad still happened to every kid who used 615it was cursed.

One kid fell off the rope in gym and broke his leg on the first day he used 615. Another choked in the school cafeteria, also on the day he was assigned 615. Mr. Rockwell wont admit it, but he now goes out of his way not to give 615 to anyone. Even parents get a little superstitious when kids start getting injured at school.

I started to feel sick to my stomach. I tried to run but didnt get far. Charlie and Steve each grabbed one of my arms. I desperately struggled to break free.

Leave me alone! I shrieked, in a higher voice than I wouldve liked.

They lifted me off the ground. I kicked my feet wildly, hitting nothing but air as I twisted and squirmed. They hustled me toward locker 615.

You guys are idiots, you know! I screamed.

Youre not so funny now, are you, shrimp? Charlie yelled back.

Mr. Rockwell! I bellowed, hoping the gym teacher was still around.

He wasnt.

Realizing I couldnt free myself, I hoped they would only slam me against the locker door, or maybe just shove my head inside.

No such luck!

Charlie wrapped me in a viselike bear hug while Steve grabbed the handle of locker 615. After a couple of unsuccessful yanks, he jerked the door open.

Instantly, a horrible stale smell, as if someone had left a dead animal in there, made my eyes water. I started coughing. Charlie and Steve squeezed me inside the locker and slammed the door. Everything went dark. I heard the sound of a lock snapping shut, and then it got weirdly quiet.

Let me out! I screamed. Then I coughed uncontrollably as the foul stench burned my throat. Let me out of here!

Panic now mixed with the nausea. I was squeezed in so tight I could barely move an inch. I felt my throat closing as I breathed the stale, damp air. Shifting my position a little, I tried banging my shoulder into the side of the locker.

Somebody let me out of here!

They wont come, a faint voice said. It was as if the person were standing right next to me. Then I heard someone inhale a tortured, wheezing breath.

I tried to turn my head to the right but ended up smashing my cheek into the side of the locker.

Who said that? I demanded. Is somebody out there?

Nobodys there, the same strained voice replied, only it came from behind me now. Then I heard another painful gasp for air.

Whats going on? I thought. This locker barely fits me, let alone two people. Ive only been in here for a second, but I must be totally losing my mind!

They never come! the tormented voice gasped from somewhere inside the locker, followed by a raspy struggle for breath.

I was suddenly filled with exhaustion, totally drained of strength, and unable to move. It had only been a minute, but it felt as if I had been trapped in the locker for a week.

Whats happening to me?

My throat began to tighten. I tried to breathe but had to fight to suck air into my lungs. I cant breathe! Im going to die!

Then my eyes snapped open, and I found myself staring at a boy about my age. The boy was being dragged toward a lockerthis lockerby a kid twice his size. I watched helplessly as the boy was shoved into the locker. Just before the door slammed, something small tumbled from his pocket.

No! he screamed. Or was I the one screaming?

My inhaler! the boy and I shrieked together, as if he had taken over my body and was controlling my voice. I felt his panic shoot through my veins.

Then everything went dark again. Because I was wedged in so tightly, Id lost feeling in my feet and arms. I didnt have the energy to try to yell, bang the door, or change position. My wheezing was worsening and I was losing strength.

Im so tired. Im so cold. I couldnt tell if the voice was my own or his. It didnt matter. I felt like I was dying.

A small hand closed around my throat. The last bits of life seeped from my body. Brian Coles, the faint voice whispered as the phantom tightened its grip. Dont forget about me.