Skull of the Skeleton Read online

  SCREAM STREET

  SKULL OF THE SKELETON

  TOMMY DNBAVAND

  Chapter One

  The Screams

  The witch sprinkled a handful of dried spiderweb into her cauldron and stirred. The flakes of gossamer glittered in the light of the deep orange sunset that crept in through the window.

  Dipping a ladle into the swirling mixture, she lifted the potion to her face and inhaled deeply. Suddenly, her nostrils began to twitch and, with a huge sneeze, her nose flew across the room.

  “This is never going to work!” complained the small Egyptian mummy as she rubbed at the spot where glue had held the false nose onto her bandages. “This thing just irritates me. And the robes itch, too!”

  Luke Watson paused his computer game. “Yes, Cleo, so you keep saying. We’ll see if we can get away without the nose.” He slotted the wireless gamepad back into its charger and turned to the young vampire sitting next to him. “How are you getting on?”

  “You really want me to wear my cape inside out?” asked Resus Negative.

  “Yes,” replied Luke, “so that the blue lining is showing.” He took a short, thin piece of wood from a nearby box and handed it to Resus.

  “What’s this?” asked the vampire, tucking his own game controller into his cloak.

  “It’s a magic wand,” explained Luke.

  “No, it’s not,” said Resus. “It’s a stick. Magic wands are smooth, and they have a star on top. Like Twinkle the fairy’s.”

  “Just pretend it’s a magic wand, OK?” groaned Luke. “And why haven’t you got the glasses on?”

  Resus held up a pair of small, round spectacles. “I still don’t understand why a wizard wouldn’t just fix his eyesight with a simple spell.”

  “Incredible!” cried Luke, standing up to pull on his own costume, a black jumpsuit painted with a luminous skeleton pattern. “I spend years trick-or-treating in a bin liner cape. Then, when I finally meet a real vampire, he manages to suck all the fun out of Halloween!”

  “You used to dress up as a vampire?” asked Resus incredulously.

  Luke nodded. “I even used to dye my hair. It was really hard keeping the plastic fangs in as I went from door to—”

  Resus strode to the window and stared moodily out into the night.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Luke.

  Cleo punched his arm and spoke through clenched teeth. “Pretending to be a vampire? Fake fangs? Ring any bells?”

  Luke’s expression fell. Since arriving in Scream Street he’d learnt that Resus was unusual: a normal child born to vampire parents. He wore false fangs and dyed his hair black to create the illusion that he was the same as the rest of his family, but it was still a sore point.

  “Sorry,” said Luke. “I suppose I don’t think of you as a normal or as a vampire any more. You’re just my friend.” Resus remained silent.

  “If it’s any consolation,” Luke continued, “I went as a mummy one year by wrapping myself in toilet paper. It poured with rain and I practically melted!”

  Resus turned, beginning to smile. “I bet you were still more graceful than bumble-bandages here.”

  “How rude!” exclaimed Cleo, pulling the green witch’s wig from her head. Snatching up the bubbling pot of liquid, she added, “I might just keep my world-famous lime tea all to myself now!”

  Resus pulled a face. “It’s got powdered spiderweb in. What makes you think I wanted any to begin with?”

  “Right!” interrupted Luke, grabbing a pair of broomsticks from beside the door. “Take these, and then we’re ready to go.”

  “What are they for?” asked Cleo.

  “You don’t want us to sweep up as we go, do you?” asked Resus.

  “No,” said Luke patiently, “you fly on them. Or, at least, you pretend to.”

  Resus and Cleo shared a glance, trying to contain their giggles. “They think witches and wizards fly about on cleaning tools in your world?”

  Cleo clamped a broomstick between her legs and raced around the room. “Look at me,” she shouted. “I’m a flying witch!” Resus fell onto the bed, laughing.

  Luke pulled the skeleton mask down over his face to hide his annoyance. Who would ever have thought that Halloween could be such hard work?

  Luke marched determinedly along Scream Street in his skeleton costume. Trudging miserably behind were Cleo and Resus, still dressed as witch and wizard.

  “I look stupid,” grunted the mummy.

  “You’re supposed to look stupid!” insisted Luke. “It’s what Halloween’s for.”

  Resus sighed. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

  “That’s the spirit!”

  Suddenly, a sickly green figure lurched out onto the street from a nearby garden, muttering to himself. “This is totally bogus, man! The groove has gone!”

  “What’s the matter, Doug?” asked Cleo, recognizing one of Scream Street’s resident zombies.

  Doug slouched in their direction. “I’m deep in a bad scene, little dudes.”

  Luke blinked at the creature’s vile breath as it filtered through his skeleton mask. “Why, what’s wrong?”

  “I had a heavy night with Turf,” explained Doug, “so I settled down for a nap in the bushes. When I woke up, just now, I found this…” The zombie turned to reveal that one of his arms was completely missing. Maggots crawled over the pus-filled shoulder. Cleo gagged.

  Resus grinned at her. “What’s up with you?” he asked. “I always knew Doug was ’armless!”

  Luke pulled off his mask to get a better look at the wound. It appeared that the limb had simply been torn away, leaving the decaying muscle and crumbling bone exposed. “This happened while you were asleep?” he asked, unconvinced.

  Doug nodded. “Turf got hold of some brain fluid from a South American mathematician. You’ll sleep through anything after a few pints of that stuff!”

  “That’s handy,” quipped Resus.

  Cleo elbowed the vampire and smiled at Doug sympathetically. “Who do you think took it?”

  “Yeah,” added Resus. “Who should shoulder the blame?”

  The zombie shrugged — which wasn’t easy to do with an arm missing.

  “Do you need us to help you find your arm?” asked Resus, hoping to get out of Luke’s Halloween plans.

  “No thanks, little vampire dude — you’re all dressed up and I’d hate for you to mess up those fine-looking duds!” The zombie gave everyone a mournful high-five with his remaining hand and shuffled away down the street.

  Luke pulled his mask back on and turned to Resus and Cleo. “Right,” he said. “Follow me!”

  The trio wandered along the street while Luke chose his first target. The tall, misshapen houses met the dark grey clouds that swept across the moon. Dead trees burst from the pavement like hands clawing out of a grave.

  Luke’s family had been moved to Scream Street by G.H.O.U.L. — Government Housing Of Unusual Life-forms — after he had transformed-into a werewolf and attacked a bully at his old school. Life since then had been a seemingly endless quest to locate the relics of the community’s founding fathers to give Luke the power to open a doorway home and finally take his terrified parents back to their own world. Scream Street’s landlord, Sir Otto Sneer, also wanted the relics for his own purposes — and in fighting to acquire them at every opportunity had turned the quest into a running battle.

  Tonight, however, was going to be different. For once, Luke was determined that the search for a way out of Scream Street wouldn’t be foremost in his mind. Tonight, he was going to have some fun.

  “Here we are,” he smiled as he led the way up the path to number 2 and rapped on the door. “Watch the master at work…”


  After a moment, a huge, pulsating mass of mud and slime appeared, sipping from a crystal goblet. Clumps of muck ran down the glass.

  “Ugh, children!” gurgled the bog monster. “What do you beasts want?”

  “Trick or treat, Mr Crudley!” cried Luke.

  Mr Crudley took another sip of wine, leaving behind tendrils of green weed. “Trick or what?”

  Luke sighed. What was it with these people? “Trick or treat,” he repeated.

  “And what does that mean, boy?”

  Luke stared up into what he hoped were the bog monster’s eyes. “You have to give us a treat, like a few sweets, or we play a trick on you.”

  “Who is it?” called a voice from inside the house.

  “It’s that werewolf child,” Mr Crudley called back over his shoulder. “He says he’s going to play a trick on us.”

  Mrs Crudley, another pulsating mound of brown gloop, slithered into view beside her husband. “And why would you do that, young man?”

  “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you the same thing,” admitted Resus. “Halloween is the most romantic night of the year. Why do you want to go around playing tricks on people?”

  Luke ripped off his skeleton mask in horror. “Romantic?” he asked. “Halloween isn’t supposed to be romantic! It’s full of monsters!”

  “Exactly,” gurgled Mr Crudley, wrapping a slug-like arm around his wife and nibbling affectionately at a lump of soil on her cheek. “It works for me!”

  Luke was flabbergasted. “But what about Valentine’s Day?”

  Cleo shuddered. “Giving each other hearts? Creeps me right out! From there, you’re only a short step from handing out livers, and then you’re in zombie territory.”

  “I don’t believe this,” said Luke. “Halloween shouldn’t be all romantic and lovey-dovey! It should be scary, and terrifying, and—”

  His words were interrupted by a chorus of screams that pierced the night, causing Mr Crudley to jump and spill wine down his vast, blubbery stomach.

  Luke grinned. “It should be like that!”

  Chapter Two

  The Smell

  Luke, Resus and Cleo raced towards the sound, which seemed to come from the direction of Scream Street’s central square. As the noise became louder, they could hear joyful cheers and screeches that seemed to be centred around one house in particular, off the opposite side of the square.

  “Come on,” called Luke. “Sounds like the party’s this way!”

  The trio skidded to a halt outside 26 Scream Street, where dozens of excited women were crowded. Female ghosts, ogres, fairies and more pressed up against the garden fence, their screeches echoing off the nearby houses.

  “What’s going on?” Resus asked as he, Luke and Cleo squeezed their way through the group to a gap at the front.

  “He’s moved in!” giggled a trembling skeleton who stood beside them. “I thought it was just a rumour, but it’s not. He’s actually moved to Scream Street — on Halloween, too!”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Cleo. “Who’s moved to—”

  The rest of her sentence was drowned out as the front door opened and the crowd went crazy.

  The trio watched as a huge, jet-black stallion leapt from the house and landed on the garden path, its hooves raising sparks from the concrete. A tall figure in a long coat was riding it: a figure with a smooth white skull for a head, sporting twisted brown horns and sharp red fangs.

  The crowd screamed again as the figure winked a piercing blue eye. A female troll fainted to the ground, landing with a deafening thud, and was slowly dragged away by twenty-two of her friends.

  Luke nudged Cleo as the dashing rider trotted around the small front garden, waving to the hysterical crowd. “Who is that?”

  “I’ve only seen him in pictures,” replied Cleo, “but I think it’s the Headless Horseman.”

  Luke looked surprised. “Unless my eyes deceive me, that guy’s definitely got a head!”

  “It was cut off in some battle or other,” Cleo explained, “but he found it and discovered he can now take it off and on whenever he wants.”

  “It can’t be him,” scoffed Resus. “The Headless Horseman is human. This guy’s got fangs and horns!”

  “So he’s had a little work done,” barked a gravelly voice. “Anyone who’s anyone has ectoplastic surgery these days.” Luke looked down to find a small, grey gargoyle standing next to him. The creature twitched a pair of granite wings on his back and held out a tiny hand. “The name’s Rocky. I’m the Horseman’s agent.”

  Luke shook the small hand, which was stone cold. “You mean his horns and fangs are fake?”

  Rocky nodded. “Eddie wanted to stand out at public appearances.”

  “Eddie?” asked Cleo.

  “The Headless Horseman’s real name,” replied the gargoyle impatiently. “Don’t you read his fan magazine?” Cleo was about to admit that she didn’t even know the Horseman had a fan magazine, when the celebrity himself spoke up.

  “Ladies…” he began. “Now I know who put the scream in Scream Street!” The crowd squealed with delight at the sound of the Horseman’s voice, reaching out to try to brush their fingertips against his leather coat as he rode past. “It’s good to be back home!”

  “Back home?” asked Resus. “But I thought…”

  “Oh yes,” said Rocky. “Eddie used to live in Scream Street before he was famous. Someone must have leaked the news that he was moving back.”

  “Now, I know you’re the most loyal of fans,” continued the Horseman as he circled the garden. “I expect you all bought my keep-fit video and charity CD. Many of you will have even switched to my own brand of toothpaste. But here’s the best offer of all…” The Horseman paused for every female in the crowd to hold her breath in anticipation. “Who would like to take me home with them?”

  The troll fainted for a second time, flattening two banshees and a tree nymph as the street echoed with squeals of excitement once more. Rocky tugged at Luke’s skeleton costume. “Good with a crowd, isn’t he!”

  The Horseman waited until the noise had died down enough for him to continue. “Of course, I can’t actually come home with each and every one of you…”

  “That’s it,” muttered Rocky, “build them up, then go in for the kill!”

  The Horseman pulled from his pocket a glass vial, its stopper a miniature replica of his own skull. He held it out. “…but if you close your eyes, it will smell like I’m really there.” He trotted along the length of the garden fence, pressing down on one of the horns on the tiny skull and spraying a fine mist over his adoring fans. “I give you my new scent!” he announced proudly. “An aromatic way to remember me — Decapitation Pour L’Homme!”

  The women swooned as they breathed it in. “It smells like his leather coat,” sighed a ghost.

  “It smells like his riding boots,” cooed a zombie.

  “It smells like goblin farts!” mocked Resus, holding his nose.

  Rocky glared up at the vampire. “Shh!” he hissed. “Don’t give away the secret ingredient!”

  “This scent,” proclaimed Eddie to his enraptured audience, “is the first I ever smelt after my head was violently detached from my body in the heat of battle!”

  The trembling skeleton beside Cleo gasped. “This is it!” she whispered. “This story is why I love him so much!”

  “As those who have read my authorized biography (available for seventeen pounds ninety-nine at all good bookstores) will know, I was asked by G.H.O.U.L. to protect an orphanage against a horde of terrifying giants.” All down the street, female eyes began to mist over. “I fought valiantly for those innocent little children until the bloodthirsty leader of the giants sliced my head from my body with his sword!” The Horseman’s eyes grew wet as he spoke.

  “Extra tear ducts,” grinned Rocky. “My idea, those.”

  “As my life ebbed away, all I could think of was those darling cherubs,” continued the Horseman. “I couldn
’t die and abandon the orphans to those snarling monsters. And so, defying death itself, I picked up my severed head and continued to fight!” He paused to spray more of the perfume over the crowd.

  “As the last giant fell to my blade, this is what I smelt in the air. This is the scent of courage. This is the scent of passion…” Eddie paused theatrically, then raised his horse up onto its back legs. “This is the scent off freedom!”

  Rapturous applause and piercing screams erupted from the crowd. Rocky pushed his way to the front and leapt over the garden gate. “OK, ladies,” he shouted as he dragged cases of the perfume-filled vials from under the hedge, “first come, first served! Get your bottle of Decapitation Pour L’Homme for just twenty-nine pounds ninety-nine and you too will smell like your head-free hero!”

  “This is crazy,” said Luke as the crowd surged forward, producing handfuls of money from pockets and purses.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Rocky had leaked details of the Horseman’s new address, just so he could sell that stinking stuff,” said Resus. “It reeks!”

  “It doesn’t matter what it smells like,” said Cleo. “He’s a handsome, charming hero. He could sell anything to this lot right now.”

  Luke smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re after a bottle of the stuff too!”

  “Of course not,” said Cleo scornfully, “but I might get my picture taken with him when the crowd has died down.” She gestured towards a slim banshee with red dreadlocks who was approaching Eddie and Rocky, a camera slung around her neck.

  “Picture for The Terror Times?” the photographer asked.

  “Always happy to oblige the press,” crooned the Horseman as he wrapped his arm around the trembling skeleton, who was now at the front of the queue. “Smile!”

  The photographer raised her camera and pressed the button. A dazzling burst of white light filled the street, forcing everyone to shield their eyes. As the glare of the flash faded, a single, piercing scream rang out.

  The Headless Horseman’s head was gone.