Danger at the Fair Read online

  Corey nodded and put the paper in his pocket. Phooey. For a moment, he had thought he would be a hero. He could almost see the newspaper headline: LOCAL BOY FOILS THIEF!! And, under the headline, a picture of Corey, accepting a reward from the grateful woman after she got her purse back.

  “Be alert,” Corey said, as he and Nicholas walked away. “We might see him again.”

  “I didn’t see him the first time,” Nicholas said.

  CAITLIN waved from a shady bench near the Tilt-a-Whirl ride. Ellen sank down on the bench beside her.

  “So, how was it?” Caitlin said. “Did you find out if I made Drill Team? Do you know who you’re going to marry? Did you learn if you’ll be rich or . . .” she stopped talking and put her hand on Ellen’s arm. “Ellen?” she said. “Are you OK? You’re white as a snowman.” She looked closer. “You’ve been crying.”

  “I got a warning,” Ellen said.

  “She gave you bad news?”

  “The Great Sybil didn’t. I got a message from the spirits.”

  “What kind of a message?”

  “It’s a warning that something bad is going to happen, probably to Corey. I think the message is from—from Grandpa.”

  “But your Grandpa . . .” Caitlin clamped her lips together. “We ought to complain to the Fair Board,” she said. “That fortune-teller has no right to upset you this way, pretending she can talk to the dead.”

  “She wasn’t pretending. Oh, Caitlin, it was so strange.”

  “I’m sure it was. Strange and well-rehearsed. Those people are all phonies; you know that, as well as I do.”

  Ellen shook her head. “It wasn’t fake,” she said. “The Great Sybil was just as shocked as I was.”

  “Oh, sure.” Caitlin patted Ellen’s arm. “I know you miss your grandpa,” she said. “It’s been real hard for you since his accident, but you have to be realistic, Ellen. If that woman really could communicate with people who have died, she wouldn’t be traveling around in a tacky painted trailer, charging two bucks to read fortunes. You notice there’s no long line of people waiting for her to enlighten them.”

  Ellen looked down at her hands. She knew Caitlin made sense, yet she couldn’t shake a sense of misgiving.

  “If your grandpa’s spirit could send a message,” Caitlin said gently, “why wouldn’t he have sent it to your grandma, or to your mom?”

  “Maybe I’m the only one who can communicate. Remember when I worked in the Historical Society’s haunted house and the ghost of Lydia Clayton spoke to me and nobody else could hear or see her?”

  “That was different. You were in Lydia’s former home and she had a problem that she needed your help with.”

  “This time, Corey has the problem and Grandpa—or some other spirit—is trying to help.”

  “If it’s true that you are the one who can communicate, you would not need The Great Sybil as an intermediary. The spirits could talk directly to you.” Caitlin lowered her voice. “If your grandpa’s spirit wanted to tell you something, I don’t think he would whisper in your ear when you’re at the fair. He would do it when you were home alone and could pay close attention.”

  Caitlin stood up. “Forget about The Great Sybil. She’s nothing but a phony and your so-called message is only a trick. Let’s go pig out on cotton candy.”

  Ellen stood, too. How could she explain what had happened in that plant-filled room? Caitlin had not been there. She didn’t witness Ellen’s pencil darting across the paper as if it were alive. She didn’t see the look of excitement on The Great Sybil’s face or hear the awe in her voice.

  As Ellen followed Caitlin toward the cotton-candy stand, she put her hand in the pocket of her jeans and touched the piece of paper. She wished she could believe that Caitlin was right and the warning was merely a trick. It would be much easier to laugh it off, as if it were a silly message in a fortune cookie.

  But what if it was real?

  What if Corey was destined for some terrible danger?

  And what if Grandpa was trying to warn her?

  CHAPTER

  4

  “WHAT HAPPENED? That girl was crying.” The bored man came out of the ticket booth and approached The Great Sybil, who stood in the trailer’s open doorway.

  “She had a message from the spirits.”

  “Oh, sure. What did you tell her, Sybil? You have to be careful with kids that age. Get them all upset and they run to their parents and you’ll end up with the State Attorney General’s office closing us down.”

  “I didn’t tell her anything. It was a real message.”

  “Are you serious?” The man stepped inside the trailer and closed the door behind him. “What happened?”

  “She was holding a pencil and a notebook and the spirits did automatic writing.”

  “Holey-moley.” The man slumped into one of the chairs. “How long has it been, thirteen years? Fourteen?”

  “Fifteen. When I started charging for my services, the spirits quit coming. Fifteen long years ago.”

  “Fifteen years since you actually had any communication, and then it happens with some hysterical kid who can’t handle it.”

  “She wasn’t hysterical. She got a warning and then, when I asked if she had recently lost a loved one, it hit a nerve. Apparently, her grandfather died not long ago.”

  “Oh, great. She’s going to run home crying and tell Mama that she talked to Grandpa, who died last week. The cops should be here any minute. Geez, Sybil, you need to be more careful.”

  “Careful! How was I to know this would happen? I was just as surprised as the girl was when that pencil started to move.” The Great Sybil sat opposite the man, put her elbows on the table, and leaned her chin on her hands. “It was glorious, Willie,” she said. “It was just the way it used to be, when I still had my talent.”

  “Why?” he said. “Why now, after all these years, are you suddenly able to do it again?”

  “I can’t. The girl can.”

  “You led her into it, didn’t you? You got her relaxed and called the spirits to come?”

  “Yes. But they didn’t come to me, they came to her. I was merely a spectator.”

  “She paid her two dollars, just like everyone else. She bought a ticket before she went in.” Willie frowned. “You’ve always said you lost the talent after you started charging money to do readings. You said the spirits quit coming because it was a business for profit, not a true spiritual search.”

  “The girl, Ellen, made no profit. Her search was genuine.”

  “What do you plan to do if the girl’s parents show up, angry because you misled their daughter and upset her?”

  “I didn’t mislead her! If anyone asks, I’ll tell them the truth. She got a message.”

  Willie shook his head. “The truth is, you’ve hoaxed people out of their money for fifteen years. Now, I’m the first to admit I encouraged you. When you first lost your talent, I told you to fake it and who would know the difference? The way I see it, if people want to spend their money, we’d be foolish not to take it. Still, it’s hard to believe that after fifteen years of hoaxes, you are suddenly the witness to a real message from the spirits.”

  “It’s been more than a hoax, all these years,” The Great Sybil said. “I’ve made a lot of people happy because of the ‘messages’ they got. They’ve come in here anxious and upset and I’ve sent them away calm and optimistic. Is that so terrible?”

  “You tell them what they want to hear,” Willie said, “whether it’s true or not.”

  “This time, I didn’t. I swear it, Willie. This time, the spirits spoke. If anyone asks, that’s what I plan to tell them.”

  “Well, it makes me nervous,” Willie said. “If any more kids want to buy tickets, I’m going to say they have to be eighteen or older in order to get in.”

  “THE MESSAGE wasn’t whispered in my ear,” Ellen told Caitlin. “It was written on my notebook paper, by my pencil, held in my hand.”

  The two girls sat in
the top row of the arena where Caitlin’s cousin was scheduled to show his sheep. They were early, so it was a quiet place to talk.

  Ellen handed Caitlin the message and watched Caitlin’s expression change from scorn to concern as she read it.

  “That is scary,” Caitlin said, as she handed the paper back to Ellen. “It is definitely not your handwriting and I don’t see how it could be a trick, either. Not when it was your own pencil and you were holding it.”

  “It doesn’t look like Grandpa’s handwriting, either,” Ellen said. “But who else would the message be from?”

  “Maybe it’s from your guardian angel.”

  “That’s what The Great Sybil said. I didn’t know you believed in angels.”

  “My aunt says everyone has a guardian angel,” Caitlin said. “She prays to hers every day, asking the angel to keep her safe.”

  “Sort of like a fairy godmother?”

  “Not exactly. Aunt Catherine says we each have an angel who is always with us, to guide us and help us. Sometimes, when we think we have a good idea, it’s really our angel who puts the idea into our head. Aunt Catherine even asks her angel to talk to other people’s angels. When we went on our vacation last year, she had her angel ask my angel to be especially watchful over me while I was away from home.”

  “Does she ever get written messages from her angel?”

  “No,” Caitlin admitted, “but I suppose all angels are different. When I was little, I used to imagine that my guardian angel sat on top of my bookshelf at night, watching me sleep, and shooing away any goblins. It was comforting.”

  “You never told me this before.”

  “It isn’t the sort of thing that comes up in ordinary conversation. I always wanted to think Aunt Catherine was right, but it’s been a long time since I believed there was an angel on my bookshelf.”

  “Whoever it is from,” Ellen said, “the message makes me nervous.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” Caitlin asked.

  Ellen shrugged. “What can I do?”

  “Are you going to tell your parents?”

  “No. Mom would get upset and Dad would say The Great Sybil is a fake and tell me never to go back.”

  “What about Corey? Will you tell him?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to worry him and I’m afraid if I tell him, he’ll blab to my folks. You know what a motormouth he is.”

  Caitlin nodded. “Still, if he’s going to be in danger, maybe you should try to warn him. He might be more cautious.”

  Ellen looked again at the slip of paper in her hand. “The danger is some time in the future,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll say anything to Corey just yet.”

  “Maybe you’ll get another message,” Caitlin said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you did the automatic writing, not The Great Sybil. Maybe you can get messages from the spirits any time you want.”

  Ellen did not answer. What if Caitlin was right? What if she could contact—contact who? She was not at all sure she wanted to receive more messages from the dead. Not even Grandpa.

  COREY raised his arms high above his head, aimed at the red spot in the middle of the stack of wooden milk bottles, and threw the ball as hard as he could. Thunk! It hit almost in the center of the spot, toppling six of the bottles. The remaining four bottles wavered for an instant but remained upright.

  “Phooey!” said Corey.

  “Sorry, son,” said the man who ran the bottle-throw booth. “Care to try again?” As he spoke, he picked up the fallen bottles and restacked them.

  Corey dug into his pocket for three more quarters. Even though he thought seventy-five cents was way too much money just for a chance to throw a ball at a stack of wooden milk bottles, Corey was determined to win one of the stuffed dinosaurs that hung from the ceiling of the booth.

  “You aren’t doing it again, are you?” asked Nicholas. “You’ve already lost four times.” He finished his corn dog and wiped the mustard from his mouth with his sleeve.

  “I want that Tyrannosaurus.”

  “It would be cheaper to go to the toy store and buy one.”

  Corey wished Nicholas wouldn’t be so practical. It spoiled Corey’s grand dream of telling everyone how he won the giant stuffed dinosaur at the fair. Won it! For free! Just by throwing a ball and knocking over some wooden milk bottles.

  “Win a dinosaur!” yelled the man, as a group of boys approached the booth. “Only seventy-five cents to win one of these giant, authentic, stuffed dinosaurs.”

  “Let’s go ride the roller coaster,” Nicholas said.

  “I’m going to try one more time,” Corey said. He plunked his money on the counter. The man quickly swept it into his apron pocket and handed Corey another ball.

  Corey licked his lips and rubbed the ball between his hands. Using his best Little League pitching form, he flung the ball toward the stack of bottles. This time, the ball hit exactly where he aimed, square in the middle of the red spot. The top three bottles flew off and all of the bottom bottles except one toppled immediately. That one rocked back and forth so violently that the top of the bottle hit the floor before it straightened again. Then it rocked slower and slower until it finally stopped in an upright position.

  “Sorry, son,” said the man. “Care to try again?”

  “I hit the spot!” Corey said. “I hit right in the middle.”

  “Must have been a shade to one side,” said the man.

  “It wasn’t! I hit dead center!”

  “Win a dinosaur!!” yelled the man, covering up Corey’s voice. “Step right up and try your luck. Only seventy-five cents for a genuine, authentic stuffed dinosaur.”

  “I should have won, shouldn’t I, Nicholas? That ball hit right smack where it was supposed to.”

  “I wasn’t watching,” Nicholas admitted. “Just as you threw it, that kid tripped and dropped his ice-cream cone and I got distracted.” Nicholas pointed to where a woman comforted a crying boy. A chocolate ice-cream cone lay in the sawdust at the boy’s feet.

  A man standing near the boy said, “Don’t cry, little boy. I’ll give you some money to buy another ice-cream cone.” He reached toward his back pants pocket and then began frantically searching all of his pockets. “It’s gone,” he said. “My wallet is gone.”

  Corey and Nicholas looked at each other in surprise. “Another robbery?” Corey said.

  CHAPTER

  5

  COREY LOOKED around for the man with the shopping bag but did not see him. A group of curious people now surrounded the crying child, his mother, and the frantic man.

  “I had my wallet when I bought my ticket to get in,” the man said to no one in particular, “and I got it out to use my telephone credit card awhile ago.”

  “You probably left your wallet in the phone booth,” suggested the woman with the little boy. “I did that once.”

  “Maybe it’s still there,” the man said. He hurried away.

  “Let’s go ride the roller coaster,” Nicholas said.

  “That bottle guy is cheating,” Corey said. “One of those bottles is rigged so it won’t fall over no matter where the ball hits. We ought to spy on that man and see how he does it and report him to the Fair Board. I bet nobody ever wins a dinosaur. Those same dinosaurs have probably been hanging there for a million years.”

  “That’s why he calls them authentic,” said Nicholas. “If we’re going to ride the roller coaster before my mom comes back, we’d better get going.”

  Corey shoved his hands in his pockets and stomped away from the bottle-throw booth. He did want to ride the roller coaster and he knew that if he and Nicholas waited until Nicholas’s mother was with them, she might say no. Mrs. Warren had allowed the boys to go off on their own while she went to the flower exhibit only after they promised to stay together and to meet her in exactly one hour. She did not make them promise not to go on any scary rides but they both knew it was only because she hadn’t thoug
ht of it.

  In addition to the Ferris wheel, they had already ridden The Giant Lobster Claw and the Tilt-a-Whirl. Corey screamed so much on The Giant Lobster Claw that his throat hurt but he didn’t mind. Half the fun of going on a scary ride was being able to scream as loudly as possible. If there was a prize for Best Screamer at the Fair, Corey was certain he would win it.

  While they waited in line for the roller coaster, they ate strawberry ice-cream cones and looked across the midway toward The River of Fear. A wooden stairway led to a platform that was as high as the top of the Ferris wheel. People climbed the stairs and waited on the platform to begin the ride.

  “The River of Fear ride is working again,” Corey said. Earlier, there had been a rope at the bottom of the stairs, with a CLOSED sign hanging from it.

  A recorded spiel boomed from speakers at the top of the platform: “Experience a death-defying descent down Whiplash Waterfall! Travel through the Tunnel of Terror! Meet the monsters of Mutilation Mountain! Are you brave enough to ride The River of Fear? YES!! Astonish your friends! Climb the platform now and begin the journey of a lifetime. RIDE THE RIVER OF FEAR!!”

  “After we do the roller coaster,” Corey said, “let’s ride The River of Fear.”

  “My mom will have a heart attack if she sees us up there.”

  “She’ll have a heart attack if she sees us on the roller coaster, too.”

  “True. She still wants me to ride the little fire trucks in kiddieland.”

  Corey laughed. He knew Nicholas was exaggerating but he also knew Mrs. Warren would never allow the boys to go on anything as exciting and dangerous-sounding as The River of Fear ride. Since The River of Fear was enclosed, it was impossible to tell, without going on it, exactly how scary it was. For Corey, that was part of the appeal.

  The boys got in the roller coaster car, buckled the safety strap, and pulled the metal bar forward. As the car climbed, swooped, climbed again, turned, and plunged toward the ground, Corey closed his eyes and screamed and screamed and screamed. This was great! Ellen could probably hear him screaming clear across the fairgrounds.