A Bad Day for Voodoo

CHAPTER 4

I had seventeen text messages from sixteen different people. Some samples:

OMG Click is dead!!!!!!!!

Did u hear about Mr. Click? Funny but sad!

Was it ur class when his leg popped off? Did u see it?

I heard it was the grossest thing ever!

Click = dead. Me = :)

Check Google! Mr. Click is DEAD! I never thought I would be sad but I'm crying right now!

I closed out of my text messages and touched Kelley’s name to call her. Then I quickly touched End to disconnect the call. I needed to think about what I was going to say. I couldn’t just blurt out “AAAAHHH!!! I killed him! I killed him! Ahh! Ahh!

Ahh!” I desperately needed her advice, but I had to be cool about the way I asked for it.

Was calling her a bad idea?

Maybe. She was one more person who’d know what I’d done.

But we needed a non-dumb person involved. Left on our own, Adam and I would just bumble our way right into prison. Kelley could help us find the elements of the situation that we’d overlooked, the things that might lead the cops right to my front door.

“Freeze!” they’d shout after kicking the door down. “Drop the voodoo doll!”

“Never!” I’d scream. “If you coppers want the doll, you’ll have to—”

Ratatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatat!!!

“Ugh!” I’d say as 387 bullets pounded into my chest. Then I’d drop the doll like they’d asked.

Yep, that was exactly what would happen if I didn’t get Kelley’s advice. I called her again.

“How’re you doing?” she asked, answering on the first ring.

“Did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“Mr. Click died.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Still there?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m still.that’s so awful.”

“That’s insane, isn’t it?”

“So he bled to death?”

I wondered if I should gently ease her into the whole broken- neck concept. “I’m not sure,” I said. “All I know is that he died.”

It occurred to me that if I was calling my girlfriend to confess my role in the tragedy and beg for advice, I probably shouldn’t start lying fifteen seconds into the conversation.

Kelley sniffled. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“What if this was my fault?” I asked.

“Excuse me?”

“What if I was responsible for Mr. Click’s death?”

“What are you saying? Is this guilt because you don’t think you did enough to help him?”

“You don’t think I did enough to help him?”

“Tyler.”

“I gave you my shirt!”

“Tyler!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Hear me out. You’re good at science. Can you think of any possible scientific explanation for what happened?” “I don’t know.”

“You can’t, can you? Nothing like that ever happens. There may be records of things like spontaneous combustion, but there aren’t any known cases where somebody’s leg just popped off! I guess there’s leprosy, but even if he was a leper, his leg wouldn’t fly across the room, right?”

“Spontaneous combustion doesn’t exist.”

“Good, so this helps prove my point. There’s no rational explanation for this.”

“There’s always a rational explanation.”

“Like what?”

Kelley was silent for a few seconds. “Like he’d already lost his leg and didn’t tell anybody about it. He was giving the lecture and he turned too quickly, so the stitches popped, and he panicked and kicked his leg across the room.”

“That’s.” I started to say crazy, but it actually wasn’t such a bad explanation. Maybe that was it! Maybe he had already lost his leg, perhaps as the result of clumsy chain saw handling, and he went to some discount doctor who used cheap thread, and the voodoo doll had nothing to do with—

Okay, that was a stretch, so I finished my sentence, “.crazy.” “Well, what do you think happened?”

I tried to figure out how best to bring up the subject. “Do you believe in voodoo dolls?” Nice transition. Smooth.

“Do you think I believe in voodoo dolls?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“But let’s pretend that you do.”

“Let’s not.”

“Just for pretend.”

“Tyler, I’m not in the mood for games. Tell me what you’re trying to say, or I’m hanging up.”

“Adam bought me a voodoo doll of Mr. Click, and today in class, I jabbed a pin in its leg, and Mr. Click’s real leg shot off, and we got into a fight, and we dropped the doll, and its neck broke, and then I saw on the news that Mr. Click died from a broken neck.”

Kelley did not immediately respond.

“Are you still—”

“Can I call you back?” she asked.

“Sure.”

She hung up. I stood there, staring at the phone in my hand, wondering if I’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.

I’d gotten seven more text messages during our conversation. They were all variations on the “OMG!” theme.

I felt sick to my stomach. Did I have time for a quick puke break before Kelley called me back?

Was she calling the cops?

What was Adam doing right now? Was he calling the cops?

Did I have anything I could hurriedly make into a bulletproof vest?

My phone vibrated in my hand, and I yelped and dropped it. I picked it up, thankful that nobody had heard the yelp or seen the drop. It was Kelley.

“Hey,” I said.

“He did die of a broken neck!”

“I know.”

“How is that possible?”

“Voodoo sucks.”

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

I told her pretty much everything I’ve written here so far, in not quite as much detail and without as many side comments. She only interrupted me four times, to say “Are you kidding me?” twice, “Are you serious?” once, and one combo platter of “You can’t be serious! Are you kidding me?”

When the story lapped itself (I left out the part where I called her, figuring it was unnecessary), Kelley took a moment to process everything I’d told her and then said, “If this is a joke, I will kill you.”

“It’s not.”

“I’ll kill you and then break up with your corpse.”

“It’s not a joke.”

“I mean it. You think I won’t really kill you, but I will. If you’re playing around, I will stab you and stab you and stab you.”

“Got it.”

“Okay, I won’t kill you, but I’ll break up with you. Immediately. The second I hear that you’re joking, you no longer have a girlfriend, and I will make sure that you never have a girlfriend. I can make that happen. I’ve got connections. Our teacher is dead. It’s not material for a prank.”

I tried not to yell, “I said this wasn’t a freakin’ joke!” If our roles were reversed, I would’ve required just as many reassurances that she wasn’t messing with me. That said, I was starting to get annoyed at the time we were wasting when we could be strategizing.

“Not a joke,” I said.

She let out a deep sigh. “Okay, we’ll pretend I believe you. Where’s Adam?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Don’t you think that’s something you should know?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Call him. Keep calling until he answers. I’ll be right over.”