Shivers 7 by Stephen King, Clive Barker, Bill Pronzini, Graham Masterton, Rio Youers, Ed Gorman, Rick Hautala, Norman Partridge, Norman Prentiss Read Free Book Online Page B

settled into a wet muck at the bottom of the cup. The circular bench was broken in three places.
    “Reading the tea leaves?” Eddie said, peering over his shoulder.
    “Yeah. They tell me it’s time to trash this place.” Craig smacked the side of the cup with his palm. He expected a hollow thump, but it was firm and flat, like hitting a piece of drywall. They must have reinforced the frame with bent iron, poured concrete into the hollow fiberglass. Safer that way.
    “This one’s better,” Skates yelled from the edge closest to the moonlit castle. He was climbing into one of the cups, his long legs straddling over the rim instead of using the rounded doorway opposite the teacup handle. His foot caught on the rim and he almost fell inside headfirst—not because he was drunk, yet, but because Skates was basically lanky and uncoordinated. His nickname altered his last name of Slate, and reflected his ambitions more than any success with the skateboard. He was mostly a wipe-out kind of guy.
    Craig headed over, Eddie following like he usually did. Craig kicked a broken bottle out of their path, and it clanked against a pile of rusted beer cans. They obviously weren’t the first who’d trespassed into Storybook Forest for a bit of underage drinking.
    Skates set his six-pack of Bud on the flat round steering wheel at the center of the cup, then put his wide-bottom flashlight next to it, letting the beam shine up like a weak spotlight. “C’mon in. Got our own coffee table.” He wrapped his T-shirt around a bottle cap, twisted it off, then took a loud swig.
    The metal chain was still fastened across the doorway. Back when the park was open, vinyl padding covered the chain—white, if Craig remembered properly, sewn with pink thread to match pink roses painted on the cup. He brushed along the chain, brittle like sand beneath his fingertips, then found the hook-latch. He squeezed the release to open it, and the latch broke in his hand.
    He must have cried out—startled, or maybe a sliver of rust lanced into his thumb or beneath his fingernail—because Eddie said, “Careful you don’t get tetanus.” That was Eddie, always giving advice after it was too late.
    The chain clanked to the side of the cut-out doorway. Craig rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “What is tetanus, anyway? Do you even know?”
    That would quiet him for a few minutes.
    The bottom wasn’t as mucked up as in the other cups, and the bench around the inside perimeter was still intact. Craig stepped over Skates’ legs and sat across from him, leaving space for Eddie. Each cup was designed to hold two parents and a couple of kids. They had plenty of room.
    “Some ride,” Eddie said. He clinked his quart bottle of Colt 45 on the center wheel. Eddie never shared, never pitched in with Skates’ six-pack. His glass bottle always looked the same, with a heavily rubbed label. He probably filled the bottle with diet soda.
    “This was the only ride,” Craig said. “Guy who built the place wanted a different kind of amusement park. The idea was for kids to walk through these fake little houses, as if they were Goldilocks or Hansel and Gretel or something.” Craig remembered how it pissed him off as a kid: they got to go to King’s Dominion once when he was growing up—with its dizzying Tilt-a-Whirl, water slides, and the Rebel Yell coaster that his parents wouldn’t let him ride. Maybe when you’re older, but they never went back.
    Instead, his family went to Storybook Forest for a half-day every summer.
    “My sister loved it here,” he said. “Hallie thought the place taught her how to read. How to love books, I guess.”
    “Yuck,” Skates said, and Eddie punched him in the shoulder. “What’s that for?”
    “’Cause you’re a douche.” Eddie took a sip from his Colt 45. A faint hiss like carbonation came from the bottle. He screwed the cap back on, like he always did after each sip.
    Skates started laughing. Nothing was that