Dead Ballerinas
“Let me guess!” says the lady in apartment 4A. “Are you…a confused candy cane?”
No.
“A crazy soccer fan?” says the man in 4B.
No.
“A caterpillar?” says 4C.
No.
“The Brazilian flag?” says 4D.
No, no, no.
Apartment 4E is Seth Mnookin. He’s Rootbeer’s owner and he lives by himself with not a whole lot of furniture. He says he’s a freelance writer, but whenever I see him, he looks like he’s just woken up from a nap.
When Mnookin cracks the door, I hiss, “Sssssssssssssssssssss!” just the way Inkling taught me.
Rootbeer barks, and Mnookin pokes his head around without letting the dog out the door. Inkling tightens his grip on my shoulder.
“What are you?” Mnookin asks me. “A color-blind bumblebee?”
“No!” I say. “I wasn’t buzzing. I was hissing!”
I think about trying to explain the faint-banded sea snake to Mnookin, but after explaining it to every other person on the fourth floor, I’m too tired to bother.
“You want candy or something?” Mnookin asks me.
“That’s the idea,” I say. “It’s Halloween.”
“Oh.” Mnookin rubs his eyes sleepily. “I just got back from out of town. Let me see if I’ve got anything.”
He disappears behind the door for a minute, and I hear the sound of his fridge opening and closing. “Here you go, Hank,” he says, peering out again.
I hold out my bag, and Mnookin drops a pack of saltine crackers in, the kind you get when you order soup from a takeout place.
“Thanks,” I say.
“I love your costume,” says Mnookin. “Color-blind bumblebee. Very original.”
Inkling and I wait for the elevator. I unwrap a peanut butter cup. Inkling eats it in a single chomp. Then I eat a 3 Musketeers. It’s not my favorite, but I like to save the best stuff for later.
“Obviously, I’m not scary,” I say. “In fact, obviously I am a joke.”
“You hissed great, though,” Inkling says.
“Thanks.” I sigh. “But let’s be honest. I’m trick-or-treating alone. People are laughing at my costume. Chin is mad at me, Nadia’s mad at me, and stupid old candy crunch is this year’s special flavor. This is a pretty depressing Halloween. It might even be worse than last year.”
“Cheer up. You haven’t seen my costume yet.”
“What’s there to see?” I say. “You’re wonderfully see-through. Just like a real ghost.”
“You wait,” says Inkling. “Oh look! Here’s the elevator!”
I get in and press the button to take us to the third floor.
I eat a Twizzler.
The doors open, and four ballerinas crowd in. Their tutus are so enormous, they jam me back into the elevator.
They are covered in blood. Their skin is chalky, their eyes hollow and black. Their hair is ratty and falling down from their buns.
They are for-serious scary: One of them has blood oozing from a hole in her forehead. Another has a big fake wound going down her arm. A third has what looks like a bullet in her chest, blood spattering across her dress. The fourth has long black talons for nails and it looks like her throat’s been slit. She’s got red dots on her cheeks, and her dress has a square neckline and little German decorations.
Chin.
“You’re a dead ballerina!” I cry, surprised.
“Dead Coppélia,” she corrects. “Dahlia’s dead White Swan, Edie is dead Sleeping Beauty, and Emma’s dead Sugar Plum Fairy.”
Locke, the White Swan, smiles at me. Revealing fangs.
I stagger until I bump against the back of the elevator, and suddenly realize Inkling is no longer clinging to me.
Where did he go? Did he get off on the third floor?
No one’s pressed a button, but the elevator rises and the doors open again back on the fourth floor. Nadia is standing there, alone. She’s not wearing her unicorn suit anymore. Just jeans and a sweater.
“Those glitter girls can wait for Max and Gustav alone,” she tells me, pushing in past the ballerinas. “I’ve got better things to do.”
“Like what?” I ask her as the doors shut.
“Oh, be quiet.”
“Hit six, Emma,” says Chin. “That floor usually has the best candy.”
Linderman hits six, and the elevator starts moving up. Nadia goes on: “Anything is better than hanging out with Jacquie and Mara. That’s what I’m saying.”
Oh.
Should I tell her she can trick-or-treat with me?
I’m still scared she might boo me. She’s still mad about her dangerous pumpkins, plus my costume is obviously NOT SCARY in capital letters. There’s nothing really stopping her from booing me.
I decide not to risk it.
The elevator stops. But the doors don’t open.
We wait. And they don’t open.
Linderman hits a button.
And still they don’t open.
“This is weird,” says Chin.
“This is scary,” says Locke.
“I saw a horror movie where this haunted elevator killed people,” says Daley.
“Your mom let you watch that?” asks Linderman.
“My grandma,” says Daley. “She regretted it later. I was up all night.”
“Why won’t the doors open?” wonders Nadia. “Are we between floors? Is this a trick?”
“The elevator in the movie lured people to their deaths,” says Daley. “It was pure evil.”
No one answers.
Then the lights go off.