Todd Strasser - Wish You Were Dead

I heard the sound of wood creaking and looked out. Tyler was squatting outside his doghouse, trying to work a slat from the bottom. He must have been trying to loosen it by kicking from the inside. He noticed me.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered, wedging his fingers behind the loose slat. “I had to divert her attention before she noticed.”

It still seemed like a terrible thing to do, but at least I understood. Tyler pulled harder at the slat and it made a creaking sound.

“She’ll hear you,” I whispered, using my sleeve to dab away the tears.

“So? Better this than just wait here to die. There’s no way she’s just going to leave us behind.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they’re called serial killers, not serial leave-victims-behind-to-help-testify-against-them. Keep an eye on the door.”

Even though my neck still throbbed from the shock, and I was still angry at him, I knew he was right. Tyler managed to work the slat away from the doghouse. It was just narrow enough to fit through the fence around his pen, and long enough to reach to the front of my pen. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I could hear squeaks and clinks as he tried to undo the latch.

The doorknob started to turn.

“She’s coming!” I whispered.

Tyler had just enough time to pull the slat back through the fence and press it against the doghouse. Before he could crawl back inside, Ms. Skelling was there, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re up to something.” She reached for her belt.

“Ahhhh!” Tyler twisted into an uncontrollable spasm that left him sprawled on the floor of the pen. I could tell from the sound of the shock that it had been much stronger than the one she had given me.

“That should do it.”

“Indeed it should.”

“We’ll have no more trouble from that one.” She went back into the house. Tyler lay on the ground, his chest heaving.

“Are you okay?” I whispered.

“Holy crap …” He groaned hoarsely and tried to sit up. The side of his face was covered with filth from the pen. Suddenly he went pale, leaned to the side, and threw up. “Fricken sadist.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, his hand on his neck where she’d shocked him. But a moment later he picked up the slat again and stuck it through the fencing toward the latch on my pen.

I kept my eyes on the door, but now and then glanced at Tyler. His skin was ashen. Despite risking an even more devastating shock next time, he was totally focused on what he was doing.

Clink! The sound that came from the latch on my pen was loud and metallic. Even as Tyler pulled the slat back through the fencing, the door to the house was swinging open. Tyler barely had time to press the slat against the bottom of the doghouse before Ms. Skelling was there, her hand already reaching for her belt.

Zap! Tyler let out a shriek and convulsed on the ground. Meanwhile, Ms. Skelling studied his pen intently, as if searching for a clue as to what he’d been doing. Finding nothing, she finally turned and went back inside.

Tyler lay on the floor of the pen, his chest rising and falling in rapid, short breaths. A burnt scent reached my nose and I recoiled at the realization that it was the smell of scorched flesh. She’d shocked him so hard the skin had burned.

I also realized how Ms. Skelling had come out so quickly. She’d been waiting and listening on the other side of the kitchen door. That chatter about having no more trouble from that one had been a ploy, a setup to try and catch Tyler red-handed.

I waited, not sure what to do. Because of the loud clinking sound, and the way Tyler had started to pull back the slat even before Skelling raced out of the house, I had a feeling the latch on the door of my pen was open. But now what? Did I dare try it and risk making a sound that might bring Ms. Skelling out again? What else could I do? Just sit there and wait for her to kill us all? Still I waited, praying Tyler would come to.

It seemed like Tyler lay on the cold, wet ground for a long time, but maybe it only felt long because of how frightened I was. I kept looking back at the door to the house. Was Ms. Skelling on the other side, still listening? Even if she wasn’t, how long would it be before she came back? In his pen, Tyler’s hands slowly closed into fists. He struggled to push himself up on his elbows, then seemed to lose strength, and collapsed again.

Please get up, Tyler , I prayed. Please!

As if he heard me, he once again struggled to his elbows. The effort seemed to exhaust him, and he stayed like that for a while. Then he slowly sat up and looked at me. His eyes were glassy and dull. His dirty cheeks were streaked with tears, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

“You’re bleeding,” I whispered.

His forehead bunched. He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth and it came away red. “Bit my tongue pretty bad.” His words were garbled, as if he’d just come from having a tooth filled at the dentist.

“Now what?” I whispered.

Tyler blinked rapidly as if he needed a moment to remember where he was. His eyes focused. “Go get help.”

Just get up, push open the gate, and run? It was questionable whether I’d be able to get away without Ms. Skelling seeing me. And even if I did, by the time I got to my car, found someplace where I could call for help, and waited for help to come, she was sure to have noticed I was gone. And then she would kill Courtney, Tyler, and Ethan—if he wasn’t already dead—and quickly take off.

Tyler stared at me and again urged, “Go!”

Trembling with fear, I shook my head. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to die, but I wasn’t sure I could live with myself if I ran away.

“What are you doing?” Tyler whispered. He must have been incredibly frustrated that I wasn’t going for help after he’d suffered so much pain to win my freedom.

“I don’t know,” I whispered back, my eyes filling with tears of fright. “I don’t want to go. She’ll catch me. And even if I get away, she’ll kill you and Courtney and Ethan.”

“What good is staying going to do?” Tyler asked.

“I don’t know.” I was racked with confusion and fear.

“You can’t fight her,” Tyler said. “The second she sees you, she’ll zap you.” But even as the words came out of his mouth, his eyes changed as if he’d just thought of something. “Why didn’t I think of this sooner?” he muttered and pointed at my doghouse. “Tear off a piece of shingle. A thick piece, about an inch square. Slide it between your neck and the prongs. Then cover it with your hair.”

I did as I was told. The shingles were old and crumbly. It was easy to tear off a corner. “Now what?” I whispered.

There wasn’t time for Tyler to answer. The door opened and Ms. Skelling came out again. She saw us facing each other in our pens and must have instantly suspected we were hatching a plan. She reached for her belt and Tyler cried out and was sent sprawling. Then she turned to me.

The pressure of the jolt was like someone slapping me on the neck with a ruler but nothing more. Still, I let out a yelp and sprawled on the ground as if the shock had hit me full force. The piece of shingle felt hot against my neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Ms. Skelling continue down the pens and open Ethan’s.

I looked across at Tyler. His face lay against the dirt, eyes closed, blood dribbling out of his mouth. I had to do something, but what? I looked back at the house. The shovel and hayfork were leaning against the wall.

I heard a grunt. Ms. Skelling was backing out of Ethan’s pen with her arms under his shoulders, dragging him. My heart was racing, my forehead felt tight and hot, and my breaths were so shallow and fast that I felt light-headed. I don’t think I ever felt so scared. But what was the point of waiting? I opened my pen gate as quietly as possible, then rushed toward the house.