Second Star to the Fright (Disney Chills 3)

“No, please don’t hurt me!” Barrie pleaded. “I swear…I didn’t mean to take it!”

But Hook raised his sword, aiming the tip right at Barrie’s neck. “You’re not the first scurvy brat to play a childish prank on me—but you will be the last,” he sneered.

“I’m sorry, I’ll put it back!” Barrie begged, but Hook loomed over the bed.

“I shall have my revenge!”

His sword shot out at Barrie’s neck.

Barrie woke with a start, clutching at his neck and gasping for breath. His heart hammered in his chest. Cold sweat slicked his skin. He felt as if he could still hear the thumping and feel the shadowy hooks slashing at him from under his bed.

The last thing he remembered was the sword stabbing at his neck and Hook’s threats of revenge.

“It was just a bad dream,” he whispered to himself. “It wasn’t real.”

The trip to the museum must have stirred up his dreams, transforming them into terrible nightmares. He sat up, taking a deep breath of relief. But then his eyes fell on something that made his heart hammer even harder.

His pillow was…shredded.

Feathers and ragged strips of fabric littered the comforter and floo

r. His mouth went dry. He reached down to touch the feathers and make sure they were real—that he wasn’t imagining things—and something sharp dug into his palm.

“Ouch!” he yelped, yanking his hand back. Pain shot up his arm.

Barrie clutched his hand close to him as blood pooled in the palm. At first, he thought that Captain Hook was attacking him again. But then his eyes fell on the rusty hook hidden under the feathers. He’d pricked his hand on it.

As blood trickled down his arm, he struggled to make sense of everything. He must have grabbed the hook and shredded the pillow in his sleep, thrashing around from his nightmare.

He must have been haunted by his guilt over stealing the hook from the museum. That was the only way to explain the nightmares and his sleep-thrashing. He had to return the hook, and as soon as possible, even if it got him into trouble.

Looking around at the mess he’d made, Barrie felt silly and embarrassed. He was just glad nobody was around to witness it. Especially Rita. “Goober, scared of a stupid pirate ship?” she’d tease him relentlessly.

He’d never ever live it down.

He had to hide the evidence. After running to the bathroom for a bandage for his hand, he went back to his room and quickly swept the feathers up, tossing them in the trash. Then he stashed the hook along with the parchment letter into his backpack and zipped it closed. He was determined to do the right thing.

“I’ll fix it,” he promised himself, feeling better already. “I’ll find a way to put the hook back.” For the first time since touring the pirate ship, he almost felt back to normal.

That’s when he remembered: It’s my birthday. In the aftermath of the nightmare, he had almost forgotten. He glanced at the mirror, peering at his reflection. He was twelve years old now. He pressed at his chubby cheeks, then stuck out his tongue.

Well, he didn’t look any different, and he certainly didn’t feel any different. But he was definitely a year older. On Friday, he’d be graduating from elementary school. Kindergarten felt like only yesterday, and now he was almost in junior high.

Time passed, no matter if you were ready for it or not. And it passed fast. Barrie’s father was right. He wanted to hit the pause button—or better yet rewind—but that was impossible.

There’s nothing to do except grow up, he thought, whether I want to or not.

Mournfully, Barrie glanced at his backpack. It had been ridiculous to believe that a rusty old hook had any power at all—let alone the power to stop him from growing up.

At least he’d get chocolate cake after school and time with his best friends doing what they loved most—hanging out at the skate park. And then tomorrow night, they were going to the Lost Boys concert. They’d been looking forward to it for months. That was a bright spot in all of this.

Despite his reservations, Barrie felt excitement swirl inside his chest. There would be a stack of presents waiting for him downstairs in the kitchen. And his mom always cooked his special birthday breakfast—chocolate chip pancakes. They were his childhood favorite. When he was a kid, he used to get to eat them all the time. Now they were reserved for special occasions.

Maybe growing up wasn’t so bad after all. At least he’d get a party to celebrate it.

And chocolate. Lots of chocolate.

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