Prologue
The boy huddled behind a tombstone, trying not to sob. He took in a ragged breath, goosebumps exploding on his skin. It was only the end of August and the California nights had been cooler, but far from chilly. Tonight, however, felt like the middle of winter, in Canada. All around the graveyard, shadows flickered without the slightest hint of wind.
Panic flooded the boy as he debated with himself. Why did I agree to do this? He didn’t need to be in this group. He had friends—good friends. Sort of. What had he been thinking when he’d said yes to this dare?
“Hey, what’s the hold-up?” a voice called out in the distance. “If you’re too scared, just say so. Quit wasting our time.”
A gust of wind swept icy raindrops down his neck. He shivered and leaped to his feet, making up his mind. The boys had dared him to race to the center of the graveyard, touch the ancient crypt, and come back to the gates, where they waited—an initiation that had sounded painless, at first.
“Yeah, come on back if you want and we’ll go home,” said another boy in a hollow voice. “No one’s forcing you to do this.” Muffled laughter echoed in the mist.
He could do this. He was going to do it! He just had to be brave for a few minutes and he’d be in. Surely that couldn’t be too hard? And then no one would say he was a coward.
The boy gulped, swallowing the lump of fear lodged in his throat, and took off. Blood, and the sound of his own footsteps, pounded in his ears as he ran, dodging tombstones and open graves. The globe lights atop lamp posts shed watery light along the path that led to the crypt. As he approached, a stink of rotting leaves rose up in the air. There was something else, too, something putrid. A dying animal? A skunk? He covered his nose and mouth with his arm and hurried on.
An iron fence with a latched gate enclosed the crypt: a dark, squat square of brick. The cold metal of the gate seared the boy’s fingertips. Every instinct screamed at him, Run! Forget this initiation and get out of here.
Only pride and a deep desire to join the cool kids made him walk into the enclosure. The dread in his heart ballooned as winged shadows flitted past his face, making him whimper. The bats stank of damp fur and urine. Still the boy approached the crypt, his breath fogging in front of his face. He reached out an arm, which shook so badly, he felt as if he had the flu.
But under his palm, the brick was warm. Pleasantly so. The boy breathed deeply.
I did it!
Nothing had jumped out of the crypt or crawled out of the cavernous entrance. The mist hung as it did before, almost seeming friendlier. Letting his shoulders fall back, he made a mental note: Reality was less scary than your imagination. All you had to do was see something right through to the end. He tried to smile, but his face wouldn’t cooperate.
The grand realization sank in. Now that he’d completed the task, he was part of the group. Not only would he never be lonely again at school, but he would also have a place at the cool kids’ table. Him! Relief and adrenaline made the boy bolder.
He stared at the crypt and slapped a hand on it. “You’re just an old, useless pile of bricks and I’m not scared of you.”
Nothing happened and, feeling braver, the boy gave it a swift kick. “There! That’s for scaring me—”
A sharp current jolted him from head to toe. It felt as if someone were ripping him apart and climbing into him. He couldn’t scream or breathe. His limbs seemed paralyzed, and his skin seemed to be on fire.
What was happening to him? Help! the boy screamed silently as the world momentarily turned dark.
As suddenly as the sensation had started, it stopped. The boy gasped for air and took in a shuddering breath as the graveyard came back into focus. His head pounded, his lungs were fit to burst, and his mouth was dry.
Were the others playing tricks on him? Was it someone else? How . . .? He scanned the surroundings. The gravestones looked back at him silently, offering no explanation. Only the shadows shivered in the wind. As soon as he regained command of his feet, the boy raced back to the gate, where the gang stood.
“So?” one of them asked.
“P-piece of cake,” the boy replied.
Everyone gathered around him, thumping his back and punching him playfully.
“Welcome to the club,” another said.
But the boy barely heard him. Inside his head, someone was cackling like a maniac.
