“Don’t anybody tell him!” whispered Sarah. “Not a word–promise?”
She quickly went around to the rest of the Screech Owls gathered in the shade of the trees as they waited for the most popular ride at Disney–MGM Studios: the Tower of Terror.
The Owls had risen early for their first full day at Walt Disney World. They would do some of the MGM Studios rides in the morning, then head over to the Magic Kingdom, where they would catch the parade down Main Street, U.S.A., before eating on the Boardwalk and waiting for the fireworks display to close out the day.
The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror had been a topic of conversation for much of the trip down to Florida. Data, who had been to Disney World only the year before, had talked about it endlessly.
“The elevator,” he said, “drops thirteen floors in less than two and a half seconds!”
There was just no doubt, from the moment Mr. Dillinger had turned the full school bus onto the entrance drive to Disney World, that the Tower of Terror was a main attraction. Attached to a huge billboard in the median were larger-than-life dummies suspended from a broken elevator, their faces filled with fright and their hair standing straight up on end.
“Looks like your hair in Sweden!” Lars had called back to Nish.
“Very funny!” Nish had protested, secretly delighted that everyone remembered the new look he’d tried out in Stockholm.
“He won’t even go!” Sarah had shouted. “He’s afraid of heights, remember?”
“Am not!”
“Oh?” Sarah had said. “And what, then, was all that fuss about when we were up the mountain at Lake Placid?”
Almost as if they’d planned it, several of the Owls had turned at once and, in exaggerated Nish voices, shouted out, “I’M GONNA HURL!”
“No way!”
“You won’t go,” Sarah said, sure of herself.
“A dollar?” Nish had challenged, his lower lip pushed out as he dared Sarah to bet on whether he’d go on the ride.
“You’re on, Big Boy.”
Even though they wouldn’t be going on the Tower of Terror until later in the day, the ride–and the bet–were never far from their minds. The sounds, sometimes distant, sometimes close, of gearwheels grinding, cables slipping, and riders screaming had followed the Owls around wherever they went–even all the way to Catastrophe Canyon. To half of the Screech Owls, the screams were a warning. To the others, an invitation. Travis wasn’t quite sure how he heard it: he was half tantalized, half fearful.
The lineup for the big attraction was long. A sign said they were forty-five minutes away from the actual ride. Fortunately, the wait would be out of the sun.
The line, twisting in a gentle curve rising toward the entrance, was shaded by shrubs and trees that were filled with birds. They could buy drinks and ice cream while they waited, and soon the big wait was forgotten as they talked about their day and moved ahead a few steps at a time. Several of the Owls tried to catch one of the speedy little lizards that darted up the walls and around the trunks of the trees. Data had his father’s Polaroid camera with him, and desperately wanted a photograph of himself with one of the cute little lizards in his hand. But the lizards were too quick to be caught.
The two quietest Owls were Simon and Travis, each trying to calm his growing fears on his own. Nish had already predicted Simon would bail out before they got on the ride, walking around him with his arms flapping and doing that idiotic “Wakkk-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck!” Travis dearly hoped it would be Nish, not Simon, who chickened out, and he planned to have the entire Screech Owls team do a “Wakkk-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck!” around Nish when Sarah collected her dollar bet. That would serve him right.
Nish seemed to be gathering himself. The closer they moved toward the entrance, the quieter he became. He stood off to one side of the line, his eyes closed and his arms folded across his chest. He was in another world, dealing with his well-known fear of heights.
Nish didn’t even notice when a brilliantly coloured bird landed on a branch directly over him and let go a sloppy white poop that landed directly on top of his head.
“Scores!” shouted Lars.
“Shhhhhh!” hissed Sarah, jumping directly in front of Nish and turning to the rest of the Owls, most of whom were pointing and laughing at Nish, who stood there with his eyes closed.
“Don’t anybody tell him!” whispered Sarah. “Not a word. Promise?”
The Owls all stifled their giggles. Andy pointed silently to Data’s camera, and Data got the message. With Andy and Derek’s help, Data stood on the top of the concrete wall and aimed the Polaroid down at Nish’s majestic new hair ornament. The camera flashed–Nish never even blinked–and Andy and Derek quickly helped Data back down onto the ground.
Incredibly, no one said anything as the line continued to inch forward. Nish seemed only half awake, moving with the flow. A few tourists noticed, but each time they were stopped from saying anything by the Owls. Data pulled out the film and, when it was time, carefully peeled away the protective cover to reveal a perfect portrait of Nish’s bird topping. The Owls managed to hand it around without breaking out into hysterical laughter. After everyone had seen it, Sarah took the photographic proof from Data and stuffed it carefully into the pouch she wore around her waist.
They reached the entrance without Nish catching on, and were directed into what looked like a seedy old, rundown, musty and dusty hotel. There were newspapers tossed on tables, with dates that read 1939–long before even the parents of any of the Owls had been born! They passed through the lobby and into the library, the sense of dread building.
Once they were in the library, a bolt of lightning seemed to strike, bringing a dusty television to life with an introduction from an old show called “The Twilight Zone,” which some of the kids seemed to know. A man with a deep voice made Travis shiver as he recounted the tale of the family that had disappeared forever when another bolt of lightning had struck the old hotel, causing the elevator they had been riding in to shoot out through the top of the building and far, far into outer space–all the way to “The Twilight Zone.”
From the library they were ushered into the boiler room, where another snaking line led to the only elevator still working: the service elevator. Travis could almost smell the fear in the crowd. The screams from those actually on the ride were far, far louder now, the sounds of machinery grinding, then snapping, even more alarming. Travis’s mouth felt dry; the palms of his hands were wet.
They had barely stepped into the boiler room when Simon broke. He just stood there, shaking for a moment, then suddenly turned on his heel and hurried back through the entrance.
Unfortunately, Nish noticed.
“Wakkk-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck!” he chanted, with Andy joining in, both of them flapping their arms as Simon dashed through the door and away.
Their taunts made Travis all the more determined to stay–no matter how tough it got.
It was crowded in the boiler room: it seemed the walls were closing in. Travis had trouble swallowing. He knew from here they would be crammed into an elevator, and the idea of being trapped in that small space was as alarming as the thought of the thirteen-floor plunge.
The wait was growing worse. They moved by inches. The people seemed to pack in tighter and tighter. He was losing his ability to breathe. His heart was missing beats, trying to go faster than the heart muscles could pump.
There was a warning sign by the final steps leading up to the actual ride. Travis read the sign quickly: “Those who experience anxiety in enclosed spaces should not ride.”
Now he couldn’t swallow at all. His shirt was sticking to his back. His heart was pounding. He knew he had to get out!
Travis looked around. No one was watching him; Nish and Andy were well ahead. Nish seemed to have somehow conquered his fear, or else he was just so determined to prove Sarah wrong that he had no choice but to follow through with it. Travis couldn’t summon the same courage, false or not. He couldn’t do it.
All eyes were on the entrance to the ride, all ears on the grinding gears and sliding cables and terrifying, hideous screams that came from above. Travis quickly checked the last sentence on the warning sign: “Visitors who wish to change their minds may exit to the right.”
For a moment he was undecided. He looked up toward the “service elevator,” where the next trip was being loaded. Some were already screaming. A young woman lunged back towards the doorway, already in tears, but her boyfriend grabbed her and hauled her forward. Those waiting for the next ride laughed.
Travis couldn’t take it. When he was sure no one was looking, he bolted for the safety exit. Through a doorway and up a quick, open elevator, and he was out into the Florida sunshine and could breathe again.
He had chickened out.
Travis was miserable. Even if he covered his ears, he could still hear the sounds of the Tower of Terror–the cables slipping, the gears grinding, the trap doors breaking open, the rush of wind as the elevator plummeted again and again, and the endless, chilling screaming.
He waited around for the others by the exit, where he found a handy washroom. There was also a souvenir store, where they sold everything from T-shirts that bragged “I survived the Tower of Terror” to coffee mugs depicting the attraction. The store even had a booth where they sold photos that must have been taken at the very top of the tower, when the riders were at their most terrified. The billboard had been no exaggeration–their hair really was standing on end!
Travis watched as laughing, relieved riders came off the ride and entered the shop. He noticed Simon standing just outside the door.
Travis’s first instinct was to call to Simon. His second was to keep quiet. He knew that everyone had seen Simon bail out, but he was fairly sure no one had seen him do it too. And since not all the Owls would fit into the same elevator ride, perhaps no one would ever realize he had chickened out. As long as Simon didn’t notice him now, there was still a chance that Travis’s secret would be his alone.
Feeling like a fool, like a traitor to his own team, he ducked behind a rack of souvenir coffee cups. Simon couldn’t see him here, and his teammates might miss him as they came off the ride.
Travis heard the Owls coming even before he saw them. Loudest, of course, was Nish, and he was in full brag.
“It was nothin’, man! I shoulda bet twenty dollars!”
They all rounded the corner at once, a laughing, pushing, shoving throng of kids in T-shirts they’d picked up everywhere, from Lake Placid, New York, to Malmö, Sweden. A few had Screech Owls caps on. Nish, of course, had another type of cap on. The bird plop was still there. It had survived the trip!
“Hey!” Nish shouted. “Let’s check out the pictures!”
Travis could see Data wink at Lars. The Owls hurried to see the expression on Nish’s face when he saw what was lying on top of his hair. Travis slipped unnoticed into the group.
“Great ride, eh, Trav?” Andy said as Travis edged up beside him.
“Yeah,” Travis said. “Great.”
“Which one were you on? I didn’t see you.”
“The other elevator.”
Travis winced a bit. Technically, he wasn’t lying. It obviously had been a great ride, and he had taken the other elevator. But not the next elevator on the ride.
“Pay up!” Nish was ordering Sarah up ahead. “I need some cash for the picture of me.”
When Sarah held out the dollar Nish had won, he grabbed it and elbowed through to the front of the line.
“WHAT THE–!?” Nish shouted.
The man running the photo booth had just put up the photograph of the Owls’ ride. Sarah’s long hair was standing straight up, as was Lars’s. Nish’s hair was sitting flat, most of it trapped under a white mess.
“This picture didn’t come out right!” Nish practically shouted at the man.
The man merely looked at the top of Nish’s head and shrugged, smiling slightly.
“Looks pretty accurate to me,” he said.
Nish slipped one hand up to his ear, then carefully onto his hair and up to the top of his head, where he found what he feared.
“Who did this?” he demanded, turning on the other Owls.
Willie, the trivia expert, answered: “I believe it was a cardinal.”
The Owls all laughed, all except Nish. He yanked a Kleenex out of his pocket and began batting at his hair, disgusted. He looked around, spotted the washroom, and bolted for it.
“Quick!” Sarah said. “We’ve got to buy this for him. You know how Nish has to have a souvenir of everywhere he goes!”
They collected the money as fast as hands could reach into pockets and haul out change and small bills. Sarah made the purchase, and the man put the photograph into a bag for her to carry it in. The Owls then went outside to wait.
Simon was still out there, looking sheepish. No one said anything to him. Everyone knew what had happened, and Simon knew that everyone knew. No one, however, seemed to suspect that Travis had also bolted, not even Simon. Travis felt like a sneak, but he still couldn’t let Simon know he wasn’t alone.
When Nish finally came out, it looked like he had washed his hair–perhaps he had, leaning into the sink and scrubbing in that awful pink stuff that shoots out the soap tap. His hair was glistening and combed, with not a touch of white to be found anywhere. He did not look in the mood for teasing. He walked up to Sarah and stood directly in front of her, his lips moving furiously before he spoke.
“Give me it!” he demanded.
“Give you what?”
“The picture.”
“What picture?”
“The-picture-you-are-carrying-in-that-bag.”
Sarah looked at her purchase as if she’d just noticed it for the first time.
“Oh,” she said. “This?”
“Give it to me!”
“We were going to give it to you, Nish. It’s a gift from all of us so you’ll never forget your trip to Florida.”
Nish grabbed the package as Sarah held it up to him, yanked out the photograph, and, without even looking at it, ripped it into little pieces. He then walked over to the nearest garbage can and dropped it in.
He turned, slapping his hands together. “There,” he smiled sarcastically at Sarah. “Already forgotten.”
Nish then turned on his heels and stomped off.
Sarah, far from beaten, merely smiled and waved at Nish behind his back. Then she patted her waist pouch, where Data’s Polaroid still lay, well protected from Nish’s chubby hands.
“Not entirely forgotten,” she whispered, then patted the treasured pouch again.