amusement park to our left, which was where the Jack O’Games
were held. I was glad to start there because the posted stats
showed that they had the lowest number of deaths per hour: 0.5. The
scare park’s was the highest, at 4.0. It also had a murder rate of
1.0 per hour.
All the booths and attractions were to the
right of the main road. To the left were the giant walls of the
stadium and a huge moving line. The right side had everything:
scary shows, souvenir shops, one-minute psyclin classes, Mildewy
Lime drinking fountains, flying flyers, and educational and scary
tours of Berlin, the historical home of the tortics.
We walked for a few minutes and stopped
where a crowd of samhains was gathered around a tall pole that
soared into the fog. As a tall skeleton screamed into an opening at
the bottom, a ball of light shot a quarter of the way up the
shaft.
“ Any bets, Jacoby?” said a
teenage gargoyle, brushing by us. “Leonard?”
“ Eight Red Rollers,” said
Lin, wiping his tears.
“ Not today, Peter,” said
Jacoby.
Peter dropped a package of
candy in a cauldron and, without bothering to put his mouth up to
the opening, just roared . The light rocketed up the
pole and disappeared into the fog.
The small crowd gave him a round of
applause. Lin slipped over to the cauldron and stealthily dropped
six individual pieces of red balls into it. Peter hadn’t noticed
and hoisted it onto his shoulder and walked off.
“ Jacoby, don’t miss Hess!”
Peter yelled back to us. “He’s going to be the first one to make it
to the next round! I know he is!”
“ You see that?” Lin said
to Katie and me in a conspiratorial whisper. “Good way to play
games for cheap is to be cheap. Peter got gypped.”
“ Lin, if you ever get
caught, you’re on your own,” said Jacoby.
“ So what he did was bad?”
I said.
“ Yes. Only a sealed
package of candy may be used as legal tender. No individual pieces.
Even for a bet. If he had been caught, Lin could’ve gotten a
serious thrashing. Young melkian gargoyles like Peter are quite
strong and quick-tempered.”
We started again, moving along the walls of
the stadium. The history of the Jack O’Games was written along the
bottom. Most of the writing was obscured by giant thorn bushes and
knotted trees. However, the name of the games was clearly visible
between two massive pillars:
JACK OTTAGGAEMENEL
LANTERN ’ S
GAMES
“ Jack O . . . taga . . .”
I tried pronouncing with great difficultly. “The ‘O’ actually
stands for his middle initial?”
“ His real last name,”
corrected Jacoby. “Over time humans shortened it to the ‘O’ and
added ‘lantern’. Only a few can pronounce his real name, and,
surprisingly, they’re all human.”
“ But isn’t the ‘O’ an
abbreviation for Jack ‘of the’ lantern? Back at the cemetery, you
said that was what it meant.”
“ No. I said that was what
it meant to some humans, but I didn’t say it was
accurate.”
“ Is that the actual
spelling?”
“ Why don’t you ask him? We
got it from him. He wrote it on an old tree a long time ago. I
doubt he would have misspelled his own name.”
I was no longer paying attention to Jacoby,
trying to see what had captivated Katie. A skinny warlock was
dragging a frightened donkey over to a caged monster.
“ What’s he going to do?”
asked Katie. “Is he gonna feed it to that–”
“ I think he is,” I
muttered.
The hee-hawing donkey flopped, and the
warlock slid him the rest of the way and shoved it inside the cage.
The drooling monster approached the donkey while the donkey snorted
and kicked in frenzy.
“ What’s wrong with this
place?” exclaimed Katie in a huff.
Katie was right. What was the deal with this
psychotic place? That warlock had just fed a donkey to a
monster!
“ Come on, you two,” said
Jacoby, motioning for us to move across a log bridge. “You don’t
need to see this.”
Spanning the top of the bridge was a
dangling sign
were held. I was glad to start there because the posted stats
showed that they had the lowest number of deaths per hour: 0.5. The
scare park’s was the highest, at 4.0. It also had a murder rate of
1.0 per hour.
All the booths and attractions were to the
right of the main road. To the left were the giant walls of the
stadium and a huge moving line. The right side had everything:
scary shows, souvenir shops, one-minute psyclin classes, Mildewy
Lime drinking fountains, flying flyers, and educational and scary
tours of Berlin, the historical home of the tortics.
We walked for a few minutes and stopped
where a crowd of samhains was gathered around a tall pole that
soared into the fog. As a tall skeleton screamed into an opening at
the bottom, a ball of light shot a quarter of the way up the
shaft.
“ Any bets, Jacoby?” said a
teenage gargoyle, brushing by us. “Leonard?”
“ Eight Red Rollers,” said
Lin, wiping his tears.
“ Not today, Peter,” said
Jacoby.
Peter dropped a package of
candy in a cauldron and, without bothering to put his mouth up to
the opening, just roared . The light rocketed up the
pole and disappeared into the fog.
The small crowd gave him a round of
applause. Lin slipped over to the cauldron and stealthily dropped
six individual pieces of red balls into it. Peter hadn’t noticed
and hoisted it onto his shoulder and walked off.
“ Jacoby, don’t miss Hess!”
Peter yelled back to us. “He’s going to be the first one to make it
to the next round! I know he is!”
“ You see that?” Lin said
to Katie and me in a conspiratorial whisper. “Good way to play
games for cheap is to be cheap. Peter got gypped.”
“ Lin, if you ever get
caught, you’re on your own,” said Jacoby.
“ So what he did was bad?”
I said.
“ Yes. Only a sealed
package of candy may be used as legal tender. No individual pieces.
Even for a bet. If he had been caught, Lin could’ve gotten a
serious thrashing. Young melkian gargoyles like Peter are quite
strong and quick-tempered.”
We started again, moving along the walls of
the stadium. The history of the Jack O’Games was written along the
bottom. Most of the writing was obscured by giant thorn bushes and
knotted trees. However, the name of the games was clearly visible
between two massive pillars:
JACK OTTAGGAEMENEL
LANTERN ’ S
GAMES
“ Jack O . . . taga . . .”
I tried pronouncing with great difficultly. “The ‘O’ actually
stands for his middle initial?”
“ His real last name,”
corrected Jacoby. “Over time humans shortened it to the ‘O’ and
added ‘lantern’. Only a few can pronounce his real name, and,
surprisingly, they’re all human.”
“ But isn’t the ‘O’ an
abbreviation for Jack ‘of the’ lantern? Back at the cemetery, you
said that was what it meant.”
“ No. I said that was what
it meant to some humans, but I didn’t say it was
accurate.”
“ Is that the actual
spelling?”
“ Why don’t you ask him? We
got it from him. He wrote it on an old tree a long time ago. I
doubt he would have misspelled his own name.”
I was no longer paying attention to Jacoby,
trying to see what had captivated Katie. A skinny warlock was
dragging a frightened donkey over to a caged monster.
“ What’s he going to do?”
asked Katie. “Is he gonna feed it to that–”
“ I think he is,” I
muttered.
The hee-hawing donkey flopped, and the
warlock slid him the rest of the way and shoved it inside the cage.
The drooling monster approached the donkey while the donkey snorted
and kicked in frenzy.
“ What’s wrong with this
place?” exclaimed Katie in a huff.
Katie was right. What was the deal with this
psychotic place? That warlock had just fed a donkey to a
monster!
“ Come on, you two,” said
Jacoby, motioning for us to move across a log bridge. “You don’t
need to see this.”
Spanning the top of the bridge was a
dangling sign
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