Chapter Three:
Duped
With Mr. Sanderson under some kind of hypnotic spell, Trixie decided she had no choice but to jump ship and run for help for the bleeding girl. Brian knew first aid. He and Ben were still following the cart.
Only as Miss Belden turned to return to the rear of the wagon, where she thought it would be safest to hop off, the girl who'd been running alongside the cart was gone. That's when the Wicked Witch of the East did a double take. The young lady in the white leather letter jacket was calmly seated on the same hay bale where Miss Belden had fallen at her feet. And there wasn't a scratch on the girl.
Trixie didn't know what to think. "Did someone help you climb aboard?" she asked the girl with the dark wedge haircut.
Giggling, the young lady shook her head no.
"You mean you've been sitting here all along?" Trixie gasped.
The bashful girl giggled again, this time nodding yes, and Miss Belden spun angrily on her pointed toe. Mark Lippenstift was laughing - and this was no laughing matter. The angry witch demanded to know what the cowboy was finding so funny.
"Ah, the chick's lying," the boy insisted as Trixie loomed over him, her arms crossed. "Miss Varsity wasn't in her seat a minute ago, Witchie-poo."
The Vatican Exorcist on the hay bale across from Mark raised his cross and shook his holy water vial at the hatted boy. The black-robed priest was seated next to the girl in the jacket. "Lippenstift, you're possessed," he hooted. "She hasn't budged an inch since the start of this screwy joyride."
"That's right," the young man's demon date hissed. "The young woman outside the cart was wearing the same costume, Miss Witch," she added to Trixie. "She looked a bit older if you ask me."
Trixie wasn't comforted. That meant the other young lady was still in trouble. She needed to act fast. "Did anyone see where the other Miss Varsity went?" she asked the bickering riders.
Mark laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "You tell us," he returned. "You staged this big boo-bash, Witchie-poo. One minute, the chick was there. Then poof, she was gone."
Mr. Lippenstift's pal gave him a shove. "No, she wasn't," he whooped. "I saw her take off into that patch of woods where Dracula went."
Others had seen the young woman's suspicious departure, too. Everyone told the Wicked Witch of the East she could cut the song and dance. They knew the whole thing had been a part of the show.
Trixie grimaced and retook her seat. Glancing over her shoulder, taking one final look for the second Miss Varsity, Miss Belden noticed Count Von Mangan had joined the ghoulish parade following the hay wagon. And the three boys were having a good belly laugh. Something was rotten in Transylvania.
The grumbling witch slowly realized that she'd been duped by the young men. The diabolical boys had been trying to rattle Miss Belden's bones by adding an unexpected chill to the nightly lineup. And she cast them the evil eye.
That's when the rats raised one final rant before running off into that very convenient patch of woods. And Trixie scolded herself. She should have known that something was up when Mr. Sanderson had refused to stop the wagon.
In the car on the way over to the event, the boys had been trading ghost stories, too, come to think of it. Her middle brother Mart had been telling one about a girl in a high school letter jacket. Only Mr. Dictionary had been using so many big words his sister had tuned him out.
But now Trixie wished she'd been listening. If she had, maybe the egg on her face wouldn't be slowly frying. The Wicked Witch of the East was good and hot. "You're in on this gag, too, aren't you?" she called to the girl with the dark brown hair.
The young lady in the Sleepyside letter jacket's eyes grew big, and she shook her head no.
Of course, Trixie didn't believe her. Miss Belden had never seen the teenager before. And she knew just about everyone in town. Trixie figured she must be one of Ben's friends.
Only as a net of sticky cobwebs fell upon the unprepared passengers and the tractor's motor conveniently seized up, Trixie laughed. "Here we go again," she thought as a pair of bright headlights flicked on in the hay field.
At about the same time, a somber funeral march rose from the darkness. The haunting piece had been composed by Chopin, and it was being played by an unseen pipe organist, lost somewhere in the netherworld. The morose music evoked thoughts of loss and magnified one's fear of mortal doom.
The next thing anyone knew, a long black hearse with curtained windows had pulled to a stop alongside the tractor and cart. As the loathsome limo's front window slowly went down, its driver stuck his head out. The black-capped fiend was another of the B.W.G.'s good friends, Tom Delanoy.
Tom was the Wheeler's young chauffeur. Honey and Jim's mother and father were out of town on a business trip, freeing Mr. Delanoy and the rest of the household staff to help with the event. Tom had borrowed the hearse for the freaky fright night. His pool buddy Gavin Mc Afee drove the funeral coach for Graceful Gardens Mortuary.
"Need some help?" Tom called to Mr. Sanderson.
"You a mechanic?" the sun-wrinkled farmer returned?
Instead of replying, Tom rolled up his window and climbed out of the hearse, brandishing a nasty tire iron. His crisply pressed uniform was splattered with blood, and there were dark circles under the man's eyes. Behind the menacing driver, the coffin car was rocking. Bangs and female pleas of "Let me out!" could be heard coming from the back of the disquieting vehicle.
"You ought to put that hunk of junk out of its misery," the cool chauffeur remarked, strolling up to Mr. Sanderson.
The wary farmer looked the hearse's driver up and down. "Ol' Betsy may be a bit cantankerous, but I reckon she's got more years left in her than you do, Mister. I suggest you be on your way. Can't fix a motor with a tire iron, sonny."
Tom snorted. "It'd fix it for good if you ask me, old man."
Mr. Delanoy then proceeded to prowl around the hay wagon, leering wickedly at the passengers and beating the tire iron on his palm. Meanwhile, the banging and beseeching coming from inside the hearse had grown louder, giving even Trixie the chills. Miss Belden hadn't expected there to be anyone inside of the car. It came as an unsettling surprise - as did how easily good-natured Tom had slipped into his dubious character's polished wingtips.
As the creepy creep stopped in front of Little Bo Peep and gave her a lecherous wink, the lone black sheep in the young lady's flock bleated, "Hey Pal, why don't you make like a tree and leave already?"
Tom spat vulgarly, tucked the tire iron between his legs, and then removed his thin black tie, wrapping it around his hands. The irked driver looked like he might strangle the boy. But instead, Mr. Delanoy checked his watch and stuffed the tie in his jacket pocket. "I suppose I do need to be going," he begrudgingly told the sweating young man. "I've got a delivery to make to the cemetery. I thought I'd head to the pumpkin patch for a cup of cocoa when I was through. Do any of you care for a lift? I've got candy?" Tom added as an enticement, reaching into his front pants pocket and pulling out a handful of butterscotches.
The Wicked Witch of the East laughingly got the shivers. Tom never went anywhere without the creamy golden buttons. The Bob-Whites were always asking their friend for a piece.
But tonight, under the in-and-out moon, the seemingly innocent sweets took on a whole new light - especially when the rear door of the hearse sprung open.
As the vehicle's dome light and door alarm came on, the crowd gasped. For slipping out the back of the hearse was a disheveled girl in a white letter jacket! Trixie and the others had discovered the whereabouts of Miss Varsity Number Two!
But they weren't the only ones who'd spotted the girl –so had the grim chauffeur. In a fit of rage, Tom tossed his handful of candy into the hay wagon and then snatched up his tire iron in hot pursuit of the desperate escapee.
Catching up with the fleeing young lady, Mr. Delanoy snatched at the screaming girl's hair, and that's when her wig came off. And everyone laughed, including Trixie. Miss Varsity II's identity had been revealed. It was Tom's pretty wife, Celia. Celia was also the Wheeler's maid. Trixie probably would have recognized the young woman earlier if she hadn't been in such a state of panic.
But, once bitten, twice shy, they always say. The gig was up, and the wig was off - at least it had been off. Celia, meanwhile, had put the hairpiece back on and was kicking and calling for help as Tom threw her into the hearse and slammed the tailgate.
The heated chauffeur then climbed into the driver's seat and gunned the car's engine. As the terrible transporter spun off toward the cemetery, the old tractor came to life and began putting in the direction of the pumpkin patch. The relieved troops were again on the move!
Only surprise, surprise, more trouble lay ahead. For far off in the distant field, an angry mob was raising flaming torches in the air. The hostile assembly's murderous cries echoed across the valley.
The riled town folk were merely cardboard silhouettes, and their burning lights the Lynch's citronella tiki torches. But from afar, with the addition of the amplified sound effects, the display was quite convincing.
"Better hold on to your hat, Cowboy," Trixie called to Mark Lippenstift. "Looks like the posse is coming to string you up!"
The trouble-making bronco buster lowered the red bandana he'd pulled over his mouth. It was hard to guess what the B.W.G.'s had in store next. "Me?" the humored cowhand whooped. "Sorry, Witchie-poo, but I think you better hope ol' Betsy doesn't give up the ghost again. Those villagers are coming to burn you at the stake."
As the costumed masses around the Wicked Witch of the East began to laugh, so did their curly-haired overseer. Granted, the ride may have been pretty corny. But every living soul aboard the wagon was having a gory good time -except for the shy girl in the letter jacket, that is.
Oh, once in a while, the young lady would giggle a little bit. And crack a wee smile. But for the most part, Miss Varsity- the- first, sat like a statue, gazing blankly into the night. In fact, Trixie decided the poor thing looked rather sad.
"You OK?" Miss Belden asked the forlorn girl.
Miss Varsity again smiled softly and nodded, refusing to utter a single word.
But that was all Trixie was able to get out of the girl before the tractor's headlamps fell upon a man walking along the side of the road. At least, at first glance, it seemed to be a man.
But as the wagon grew closer, it became apparent that the not-so-jolly green giant was no ordinary fellow. The flat-headed freak was the work of Dr. Frankenbelden, somewhat begrudgingly being played by the Lynch's butler Harrison.
Mr. Lynch had given Harrison a choice. The stodgy gentleman could either participate in the show or spend the evening answering the doorbell and handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters. Harrison had elected to play the monster. The stuffy man had told Di's father it was the lesser of two evils.
The Bob-Whites had been shocked by Harrison's decision. The towering butler had been born for the part. But Diana had been too afraid to ask him if he'd join their crazy cast of characters. So she'd had her father do it. The rest was history, which was currently in the making.
Harrison, wearing a black suit that was at the same time too short and too large, had bolts in his neck and ugly stitches around each wrist. The stiff-legged stiff-come- a-live was carrying a bouquet of daisies. As the wagon approached, the half-witted monster could be heard groaning, "She loves me, she loves me not," as it plucked the flowers' petals one by one.
"I've got ten dollars on the tractor conking out," a loud-mouthed lumberjack piped up from the darkness. "Anyone care to bet?"
As people laughed, filled with anxious anticipation, Mr. Sanderson smirked. No one took Paul Bunyan up on his offer. But Trixie had been mighty tempted. This time, there would be no stopping, just slowing down, and the sawbuck would have helped replenish the B.W.G.'s depleted treasury. The teens had spent every penny they'd saved on the evening's event.
But taking the bet would be like stealing candy from Babe the Blue Ox's owner. And the Wicked Witch of the East wasn't that kind of girl. So she let it ride. And as the sly farmer slowed that ride to a snail's pace, Dr. Frankenbelden's monster went into a sudden rage.
Tossing the sorry bouquet into the hay wagon, Harrison charged the cart, roaring like a defensive animal. As the heinous creature snatched at the screaming guests, Miss Belden found herself holding her breath. Trixie was glad she was sitting against the rail opposite the monster. The Lynch's butler was taking his role very seriously. She'd have to step more carefully around the unhinged man going forward. Who knew what Harrison might do if he snapped!
Anyhow, as the cart jostled and squeaked, picking up speed, Dr. Frankenbelden's monster was eventually left behind in a cloud of dust, and Miss Belden began breathing more easily. That is until Here Comes the Bride came over the hidden speaker system.
The out-of-key rendition of the traditional march was enough to have given any missis-to-be cold feet. But on this cheery, dreary Halloween, it wasn't just any runaway bride walking along the ditch in front of the wagon toting a suitcase, oh, no. It was the Bride of Frankenbelden!
The unsightly ol' gal was still in her silken wedding gown, having left her grotesque groom at the altar. Her dark, wavy hair, streaked with white, was shooting toward the heavens. The woman's hairdresser had been the lightning bolt that had sparked new life into her spliced-together body parts.
Well, not really. The budding beautician behind the creature's beehive hairdo, waxy complexion, and scarlet lips had been the very talented Diana Lynch. In fact, Di was beginning to think she might have a future as a Hollywood make-up artist. And Trixie was forced to agree. Miss Trask looked chillingly classy, all done up.
Honey's former governess and onetime boarding school teacher had been commissioned by B.W.G.s to play the monster Frankenbelden's better half. Miss Trask helped Regan manage Manor House's modest staff. The middle-aged woman, though sensible, had her fun side too. She'd been more than happy to pitch in to help support the worthy cause.
"Hey, Witchie-poo," Mark Lippenstift called, spying the shuffling she-monster. "Looks like you're not the only one having a bad hair day."
Trixie grumbled. Her middle brother Mart had made the same comment when he'd gotten a peek at Miss Trask in in her getup before the show. Mark and Mart were a lot alike. Both boys knew just how to get under Miss Belden's skin.
The Wicked Witch of the East was preparing her comeback when Dr. Frankenbelden's hideous handiwork paused in her progression and stuck out her thumb, hoping to hitch a ride. Miss Trask then hiked up her skirt and flashed Mr. Sanderson a blue gartered leg, causing Trixie to forget all about Mark's snide remark. The unbashful bride was ad-libbing, and Miss Belden cracked up. Who would have thought such a thing coming from the proper governess!
Mr. Sanderson slowly brought the tractor to a stop.
"Holey moley, are you insane?" one of the young men in the crowd called to the snickering farmer. "Why didn't you run over her like you did the chick in the nightie, Mr. Sanderson? Didn't your mother ever tell you picking up hitchhikers is dangerous?"
Mr. Sanderson didn't reply, and as the not-so-blushing bride walked up to him, the sparkly-eyed farmer climbed down from his tractor. "I'm afraid we're pretty full up," he told Miss Trask, taking the woman's suitcase and linking her arm through his. "But let it never be said that Francis Sanderson isn't a gentleman, Madam. If you can find a seat, I'll gladly take you as far as the pumpkin patch."
The Bride of Frankenbelden smiled and groaned as she was escorted to the rear of the hay wagon. All the while, the disquieted passengers shifted uncomfortably on their prickly bales. No one wanted the freakish femme fatale seated next to them for the rest of the ride!
But as Farmer Sanderson unlatched the tailgate, Trixie moved to help the long-gloved Miss Trask aboard. "Having fun?" she whispered in the governess's ear.
"Loads," Miss Trask whispered back. "I haven't felt this young in years!"
The beaming bride then began walking down the aisle, looking for a place to plant her fanny. Mr. Sanderson, in the meantime, stood off to the side of the tractor. The farmer appeared to be waiting for the woman to get settled before he shut and latched the gate. Only poor Miss Trask couldn't decide where she wanted to sit.
"This bale's got a lovely view," the fräulein Frankenbelden declared as she attempted to wedge between a pair of black cats wearing leotards. The giggling young ladies only squeezed tighter together. The whiskered felines refused to give the laboratory abomination even a single inch.
But Miss Trask wasn't to be daunted. "Well, now, you look like a gentleman," she said to the pirate with the eye-patch, continuing her search. "How about surrendering your seat, kind Sir?"
Jolly Roger's good eye nearly popped out of its socket. He told the Bride of Frankenbelden to go walk the plank.
"Then what about you?" Miss Trask went on to ask the molting parrot next to the swashbuckler. When Polly uttered, "Have you gone crackers?" the unphased woman sighed and strolled up to Mark Lippenstift.
"I supposed I'll just have to sit on your lap, Cowboy," the Bride of Frankenbelden said, plopping down atop him.
Mark wasted no time jumping to his feet, spilling the unprepared lady to the floor. "Gee Mam, I'm sorry," Mr. Lippenstift said, helping Miss Trask up. As the governess laughed and brushed the hay from her dress, the apologetic boy picked up the bouquet of daisies from where Frankenbelden's monster had tossed them. "I'm guessing these belong to you?" he said, handing them to the woman.
The creature with the mile-high hairdo chuckled. "Thank you," she said. Still, Mark didn't relinquish his seat nor did he let the unsightly broad sit in his lap.
But no matter, it was destined to be the Bride of Frankenbelden's lucky night. There was an open bail not far from Trixie's. And as Miss Trask prepared to sit down, the Wicked Witch of the East gasped. The empty hay bale had been occupied just moments before by the girl wearing the letter jacket!
Feeling a surge of panic, Miss Belden stood up, hoping to find the young lady had simply moved. But Trixie didn't see her anywhere. Miss Varsity was gone!
That's when Miss Belden came to her senses. The young lady's disappearance had to be a continuation of Ben Riker and the other boys' dirty prank. Trixie was sure of it. She wasn't about to let the stinky varmints get the better of her again. The girl in the jacket had simply snuck off to rejoin her partners in crime while Miss Trask had everyone distracted.
The ticked-off witch was preparing to retake her seat when Bride of Frankenbelden let out a bloodcurdling cry. Miss Trask's angry green fiancé had caught up to the hay wagon! The groaning giant had just cast Mr. Sanderson aside with a single sweep of his gangly arm and was climbing aboard the cart!
"I'm coming for you, Darling!" the grinning monstrosity groaned.
Trixie laughed. She didn't think the dry man had a sense of humor. It just went to show you never really knew a person.
As the crowd shrieked and begged to get off the wagon, Frankenbelden's male mishap scooped up his bride-to-be and then carried her off in the direction of the already set sun.
"A match made in heaven – or make that the laboratory," Trixie thought with a humored sigh as Mr. Sanderson secured the wagon's tailgate.
"We all set to roll?" the farmer asked Miss Belden as she strolled the aisle, counting heads and reminding people to keep their arms and legs in the cart. The only person unaccounted for was Miss Varsity.
"All set!" Trixie returned, retaking her seat.
The pumpkin patch was just up ahead. The lights from the Sanderson's big red barn were glowing on the horizon. Every now and then, when the wind blew in the right direction, Trixie would catch a whiff of cinnamon and cloves. Miss Belden was looking forward to a steaming cup of apple cider before the next tour.
Only the Bob-Whites and their friends had a few more tricks up their sleeves before the treats began. The chained gate barring the tractor's progress being the first roadblock. "Looks like we'll have to turn around," Farmer Sanderson called over his shoulder as he brought old Betsy to an idling standstill.
As groans arose from the crowd, one of the guests pointed to a big sign with an arrow that said "detour". "Why can't we take that route?" the sheeted ghost asked his host.
"Well, now, I suppose we could," the farmer returned slowly. "But that road leads through the haunted forest, son. It's said if you go in at night, you don't come out." Howling wolves and witch-like cackles coming from the dark woods seemed to back up Mr. Sanderson's claim. But the skeptical assembly weighed their choices.
"Ah, I think everyone aboard would agree we take the risk," the young man in the ghost costume countered. "We've made it this far, haven't we, old man?"
"I'd much rather face what's a head than run into that big green monster again," one of the girls giggled.
"Me too," her best friend admitted.
"Don't forget the headless horseman is still back there somewhere waiting for us, as well." Mark Lippenstift added with a shiver.
Farmer Sanderson removed his straw hat and scratched his head. "Very well," he said, kicking the tractor into drive. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he went on to mumble.
And Trixie giggled. A part of her almost wished they would go back the way they came. The haunted forest gave the young lady the willies –and she'd only seen it in the daylight.
As the hay wagon entered the small patch of woods, the passengers might as well have been traveling through a pitch-black tunnel. Pairs of red, beady eyes seemed to watch their every move. Even more disquieting, hanging from the swaying tree limbs were filthy baby dolls. And as the narrow beam of the tractor's headlamps fell upon the pathetic playthings, it became apparent many were missing eyes, hair, and even a few limbs.
Adding to the unsettling atmosphere, as the tractor and cart approached a small clearing the howling wolves and hooting owls were silenced by an unknown male crying for help. The distinct sound of someone sharpening a metal axe could also be heard.
As flashes from sparks rose into the air, the crowd spotted a deranged backwoodsman hunkered over a grisly grinding wheel. Nearby, on the gamesman's chopping block, lay the head of a howling red-haired man. The unfortunate trespasser's hands and legs had been tied up with rope. And as the cart neared, the flannel-shirted Mr. Maypenny, who hadn't shaved all week for the part, moved to the hogtied man and brought his deadly hatchet down on his victim's neck. Mr. Maypenny had decapitated Regan! At least in effigy, he had.
As the red-headed groom's screaming stopped and the passengers in the cart were splatted with blood, the poor man's head rolled into the autumn leaves with a rustle.
That's when Mr. Sanderson put the pedal to the metal, as they say. Ol' Betsy had never traveled so fast! But neither had the Wheeler's graying gamekeeper!
Mr. Maypenny was now in hot pursuit of the wagon, waving, you guessed it, his bloody weapon. Only as the tractor exited the forest and entered the pumpkin patch, the unhinged wood-chopper retreated back into the tree line.
As cheers of hip-hip-hooray filled the air, the ladies' club coven of witches waved from their festive booths, greeting the new arrivals. The entire costumed cavalcade had survived to tell about their harrowing adventure. And as Mr. Sanderson slowed and approached the big red barn, Trixie warned one and all to stay seated until the wagon came to a complete stop.
Of course, at this point in the show, no one seemed to be listening to the Wicked Witch of the East, so the irritated young lady rose to her feet and puckered her lips. Whistling for the noisy audiences' attention, Miss Belden very nearly fell off the wagon when she noticed the girl in the letter jacket smiling up at her from the hay bale which had been vacated by the Bride of Frankenbelden.
"OK, sister, the gigs up," Trixie told Miss Varsity, crossing her arms. "You can quit with the dumb act. I've got your number. You're a friend of Ben's, and I want to know how you performed that disappearing trick of yours."
The girl with the short brown hair looked confused. Miss Varsity simply shrugged her shoulders, aggravating Trixie further. Trixie wanted to strangle the young lady. But instead, she harrumphed.
"If that's how you want to play it?" the wicked witch declared. "Then that's fine with me. Just know, I won't be falling for the same gag next trip, Miss Varsity."
Trixie then turned on the rest of the guests. "This is your last warning!" she hollered at the top of her lungs. "If you don't sit down right now, I'll have Mr. Sanderson turn this rig around! You hear me?!"
As the passengers fell silent and the aging farmer killed Betsy's engine, the scarecrow in the pumpkin patch climbed down from its post and started loping toward the gobsmacked guests. There were a few yelps of alarm heard coming from group, but for the most part, people were chuckling. The happy crew figured the stuffed hayseed's emergence from the orange-dotted field was the Bob-Whites' big finale.
Only as Scarecrow Mart Belden reached the cart and began unhooking the tailgate preparing to help his sister unload the Halloween hellions, the young man gave her a secretive wink. And Trixie grinned. There was one final B.W.G. who had yet to make his appearance on this dark and windy night. Miss Belden's Bob-White co-president had one more scare in store for the unsuspecting guests.
As the pushing passengers began debarking, the Wicked Witch of the East grinned evilly. Terrible animal squeals rose in the air. And before anyone knew what was happening, a horrible pig-man burst from the barn! Jim Frayne, his bib overalls splattered with crimson, was rushing the crowd raising a nasty butcher's knife.
Young men and women began squawking and running every which way like the chickens they were. But they weren't alone in their fright -no, no, NO! As the awful masked swine turned, making a beeline for his best girl, Miss Belden gasped, and then began to scream!
Something was wrong with Jim!