The Neon Boneyard by Craig Schaefer

Author:Craig Schaefer [Schaefer, Craig]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
ISBN: 9781944806101
Publisher: Demimonde Books
Published: 2018-04-09T22:00:00+00:00

22.

“I’m not sure exactly what the wand is responding to when it decides to work,” I said to Melanie. “It might be something as simple as the sound of someone in distress, or something that looks like real violence.”

She looked from the remote in her hands to the television. I’d cued it up halfway into a horror flick. On the screen, a hockey-masked killer was frozen in the rain, mid-rampage, holding a machete high over his head.

“I hate horror movies,” she muttered.

“You just don’t appreciate classic cinema.”

“Seriously,” Melanie said. “We are surrounded by literal, actual monsters. All day. Every day. Some of my mom’s coworkers eat people. Why would you want to watch make-believe psychos on top of that?”

“At the end of the day, the make-believe psychos usually lose. I find it refreshing.”

I walked over to the kitchen nook and stepped into the first mailbag, pulling it up over my shoes.

“Okay, when I say go, hit Play. I’m going to try to wake up the wand. If this works—if—I should pop out of the bag right next to you.”

“Ready,” she said.

I concentrated, closing my eyes, and felt the smooth mahogany wand under my fingertips. This was a game, at heart—a battle of wits between me and a dead magician. I was good at games. I breathed fast, almost hyperventilating, trying to push my heartbeat. The brain is an impressionable organ, which is why horror movies and roller coasters work in the first place: even when you know you’re perfectly safe, a little trickery can convince your body that you’re in danger and trigger those sweet fight-or-flight chemicals to flow.

Running out of time, I told myself. If I don’t get over there in the next two seconds—

“Now!” I said.

Melanie tapped the remote and a shrill scream burst from the television speakers. I dropped to a crouch and hauled the mail sack over my head, burying myself in canvas and darkness. A pulse of magic jolted along my spine, sizzling down my arm and into the wand, kick-starting it to life. Then I jumped to my feet, bursting from the bag—

—and found myself standing exactly where I’d started, in the kitchen. On the screen, the machete buried itself in a wayward camp counselor’s skull while sharp violin chords screamed.

“You’re too late,” Melanie said. The remote dangled from her hand as she gave me a dubious look. “Freddy claimed another victim.”

“That’s Jason.”

“I don’t care.” She turned off the TV and tossed the remote onto the couch. “So the wand is smart enough to know the difference between fake danger and real danger.”

“We learned something. That’s progress. Even if it doesn’t go the way you want, an experiment is never a failure if you learn something from it.”

Melanie strolled into the kitchen. “Where do you keep your silverware?”

“Drawer on the left, why?”

“Got an idea. I’ll stand here. You get into the bag by the TV.”

While I swapped places, she rummaged around in the drawer and came up with a salad fork.

“If you don’t teleport over here in the next five seconds,” she declared, “I’m going to poke myself with this fork.

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