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stabbed Vicki’s ears, then faded.
    “Attention, everyone,” Melvin announced, his voice sounding tinny and loud. “Come one, come all. Come and see Melvin’s Amazing Miracle Machine.” As he spoke, he swayed from side to side and rolled his head. “You don’t want to miss it. Nosirree.”
    “What a moron,” Ace whispered.
    He did have a rather moronic look on his face, which wasn’t all that unusual for Melvin.
    Spectators were beginning to come over.
    “Come and see it,” Melvin went on. “The Amazing Miracle Machine. Hurry, hurry. Step right up. You’ve never seen anything like it. You don’t want to miss it. Come one, come all.”
    Mr. Peters, the principal and head judge, stepped up to Melvin and said something—probably telling him to get on with it.
    Melvin nodded, put the megaphone to his mouth, and said, “The show is about to begin!”
    By now, a substantial crowd was gathered in front of Melvin’s display. Vicki followed Ace’s example, and stood on the seat of her chair. From there, she had a fine view.
    Melvin set his megaphone on the floor beside his stool. He stepped to a corner of his enclosure, hooked back one of the sheets enough to let him slip through, and vanished.
    Nothing happened.
    Everyone waited. More people showed up. There were murmured questions, heads shaking.
    Mr. Peters checked his wristwatch. “We haven’t got all day, Melvin,” he said.
    “Is everybody ready?” Melvin finally called out. His voice sounded flat without the amplifier.
    “Do it, doufuss,” Ace yelled.
    A few people turned and looked up at her, some laughing, others frowning.
    “And now—Melvin’s Amazing Miracle Machine!”
    The sheet across the front of the framework fell to the floor.
    People gasped and went silent.
    Vicki stared. For a moment, she didn’t understand what she was seeing. Then, she couldn’t believe it.
    Surrounding Melvin and his “project” were coils of razoredged concertina wire. A poster at the rear proclaimed. “I AM THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE.” In the center, on a platform at least a foot high, rested a wheelchair.
    In the wheelchair sat the corpse of Darlene Morgan. She wore the cheerleader outfit in which she had been buried: a pleated green skirt, a golden pullover sweater with a raised green E on its chest for Ellsworth High.
    Her neck was wrapped in bandages to hold her head on. Her head was tipped back, her mouth hanging open. Her eyes were shut. Her face looked gray.
    Between her feet was a car battery, jumper cables clamped to its posts. Melvin raised the other ends of the cables overhead and bumped the clamps together. Current flashed and crackled.
    Vicki, stunned, felt herself swaying. She grabbed Ace’s arm to steady herself.
    Somebody started to scream. Then everyone seemed to be yelling or shrieking.
    “My God!”
    “Stop him!”
    “What’s he doing?”
    “Melvin, for godsake!”
    “Do something!”
    Instead of trying to stop Melvin, the people at the front of the group were backing away.
    Melvin went on with business as if he were alone.
    He clamped a jumper cable to each of Darlene’s thumbs, then leaped aside, shouting, “RISE! RISE! COME ON, BITCH, RISE!”
    Darlene didn’t rise. She just sat there. The battery charge seemed to have no effect at all.
    “I COMMAND YOU TO RISE!” Melvin yelled. He rushed behind the wheelchair, grabbed its handles and shook it as if trying to stir her into action. “COME ON! GET UP!”
    Darlene shimmied and swayed. Her head wobbled. She didn’t get up.
    “UP! UP! I COMMAND YOU!”
    Mr. Peters leaped over the tangle of concertina wire.
    Melvin jerked the handles up. The wheelchair tipped forward, hurling Darlene from her seat. Mr. Peters yelped as the body tumbled at him. He ducked under it.
    Darlene flopped onto him. Her head came off, rolled down his back, and dropped face-first into the razor wire.
    Melvin gave the screaming crowd a big, idiotic grin.

Chapter Four
    HOMECOMING
    You’ll be living here,