Half-Minute Horrors

“I was!”

“I was!”

“Okay,” said Chicken. “You win.” And pecked Egg. Seven times. From seven holes Egg bled yellow into the barnyard dust. Until all of Egg was out instead of in.

Chicken grinned. “But guess who’s last.”

KENNETH OPPEL

In Hiding

My father and I lay tensely side by side in total darkness, not daring to breathe. The space was small and smelled bad. We were flat on our backs, scarcely able to lift our heads. Above us, the thing shifted restlessly on its bed, grunting. I hoped it would settle itself soon.

Finally the thing stopped moving. I counted seconds. Was it asleep? Or just lying there awake, waiting?

“Now,” my father whispered in my ear.

And very slowly we reached out and up to grasp the child’s ankles with our cold, dead hands.

RICHARD SALA

The Old Man in the Picture

ERIN HUNTER

The Babysitter

The phone rang, echoing around the white-and-silver kitchen that was as glossy as a hall of mirrors. Jess was surrounded by a dozen reflections of herself as she went to pick up the handset.

“Hello?”

For a moment there was no answer, just the faint sound of someone breathing. Jess thought of her friends laughing as they told her not to accept the babysitting job from someone she’d never met. “They probably live in a creepy old house in the middle of the woods!”

They didn’t. They lived in a top-floor loft with a view of the city that made Jess feel like a bird. The white leather sofas smelled of plastic wrapping.

Then a little voice said, “I’m coming home,” before the line clicked off.

Was there another child Jess didn’t know about?

The phone rang again. “I’m coming home!” Now the voice sounded old, tired, and fretful. There was a tap of footsteps. Climbing marble stairs. Like the ones that led up to the loft.

Jess looked down. Something was brushing her leg. It was the phone cord. It had fallen out of the wall.

The sound of scratching at the door. Like a dog. In her hand, the phone rang. “I’m home!” rasped the voice, older than sand. “Did you wait up?”

JAMES PATTERSON

Grand Entrance

Here’s what I remember about that night, and though I’ve been told it’s not possible, I remember everything clearly, like a dream come to life. . . .

I felt trapped. There was terrible screaming.

Where am I? I wondered. Some kind of tightly enclosed space.

My fear was extreme. I tried to stay calm, but I couldn’t.

There was water everywhere around me.

The screaming kept getting louder. And closer.

Then a voice broke through.

“It’s a girl,” said the voice.

Suddenly, it was quiet. Another voice filled the room. I realized it was mine.

And I was screaming like a baby.

SONYA SONES

Halloween Mask

I am me, but I am not.

I can’t be sure whose face feels hot.

Is it mine? Or is it its?

So strange how snug this new mask fits. . . .

Gazing in the mirror over my sink,

staring into eyes that refuse to blink,

holding my ground, I stare right back

at eyes the deadest shade of black. . . .

I swallow hard. This can’t be true—

when last I looked, my eyes

were blue!

TOM GENRICH & MICHÈLE PERRY

Tenton