Spell of the Screaming Jokers Read Online Free Page A

But he justwalked along silently. Maybe he was trying to forget.
    â€œWhat are we going to do with Max today?” Louisa asked.
    â€œLet’s think of something new,” I suggested. “Something besides card games.”
    â€œWhat else can we play with a sick kid?” Jeff asked. “Touch football?”
    â€œNo,” I snapped. “But what about Monopoly? Or Scrabble? I’d even play Candy Land! Anything but cards.”
    â€œOh, Brittany,” Jeff said. “It’s only for a couple of hours.”
    I glanced at Frankie. Why didn’t he speak up? Why didn’t he tell anyone about the marks on his arm? I wondered. He had even more reason than I did for being sick of cards.
    Well, he could keep quiet if he wanted to. I was going to say something.
    â€œFrankie?” I asked. “Are those marks still on your arm?”
    â€œWhat marks?” Louisa asked.
    Frankie pulled up his shirt cuff. They were there all right.
    â€œDo you see them, Louisa?” I asked her. “A club shape and a diamond?”
    Louisa squinted. “Yeah, I guess I see what you mean,” she admitted. “I can sort of see the shapes.”
    â€œYou guys are crazy,” Jeff declared. “One’s a dark bruise and the other’s a reddish scrape. That’s all.”
    â€œRight,” Frankie agreed, pulling down his cuff in a rush. “That’s all. No big deal.”
    I stared at him. I didn’t know what to say.
    Those marks on his arm were definitely a club and a diamond.
    Frankie knew they were strange. That they weren’t a bruise and a scrape. That each one had come after someone pushed him down. We had talked about it! Why was he denying it now?
    We turned the corner. There was Mrs. Marder’s witchy old house.
    I shivered as I thought about her yelling at me.
    What did she mean, she was going to make us pay?
    We stopped at the gate and stared into her yard. No sign of her. She was probably in her kitchen, brewing up some strange potion!
    But her cats stalked everywhere. Under the bushes. Through the grass. Around the birdbath—hungrily eyeing the sparrows splashing in it.
    â€œWe should do something to help those poor little birdies,” Frankie said suddenly. His voice had a nasty edge. “Come on!” He opened the gate and darted into the yard.
    Jeff groaned.
    Frankie stopped and turned toward us. A wicked grin crossed his face. He waved us in.
    â€œWhat do you think, Brit?” Louisa whispered. “Should we go?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I answered, biting my lip. “Mrs. Marder is really mad at us already.”
    â€œI’m not going,” Jeff declared. “I’m taking the long way to Max’s. See you.” He turned and walked toward Fear Street.
    Frankie vanished around the side of Mrs. Marder’s house.
    â€œBrit, we have to get Frankie out of there,” Louisa whispered. “Before Mrs. Murder sees him!”
    â€œRight.” I grabbed her arm. “Let’s go!”
    We ran through the gate.
    My heart pounded as we dashed across the yard. Black cats hissed at us as they scattered.
    I spotted Frankie. He stood over some big pots filled with blooming geranium plants. As I watched, he lifted up the biggest plant and ran with it across the yard.
    â€œFrankie!” I called in a hoarse whisper. “What are you doing?”
    He didn’t answer. He kept running. Then he heaved the pot—flowers and all—right into the middle of the birdbath. It made an awful crash.
    â€œThere!” he cried loudly. “That’ll keep the birdies out of danger!”
    I groaned. Why did he do that?
    â€œAre you nuts?” Louisa shouted at Frankie. “Come on, Brit! Let’s get out of here!”
    â€œToo bad, kitties!” Frankie yelled. “No birdies for you! Fly away birds. Fly away.” He ran around the yard, flapping his arms. “You’re safe