Say Cheese - and Die Screaming! Read Online Free PDF Page A

“He’s back there with the architect, talking
about the new house.”
    “No. Wait!” I cried.
    But Jon took off, running up the hill through the swaying weeds.
    I started after him—but stopped when I heard a shrill bleat. And then Jon’s
horrifying roar of pain soared out over the lawn.

 
 
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    My breath caught in my chest. I stumbled forward through the weeds.
    And saw Jon holding his sneaker, his face twisted in pain.
    Even in the dim moonlight, I could see the huge nail pushing up through his
foot.
    “Jon!” I shouted. “I’ll get your dad!”
    I didn’t need to find him. Two men—one tall and thin, the other chubby and
short—rushed out from behind the lumber pile. I guessed they were the
architect and Jon’s dad.
    “Jon? What’s wrong?” the chubby one—Jon’s dad—called.
    Jon tossed back his head in another scream of pain.
    “He’s got a nail in his foot!” I shouted, running up to them, pointing
frantically.
    Both men ran past me. “Oh, good heavens!” Jon’s dad moaned.
    They grabbed Jon under the arms. The tall man held Jon’s injured foot above the ground. “Into my car,” he urged. “I have a
towel. We can wrap the foot. He’s losing a lot of blood.”
    “Should we pull out the nail?” Jon’s dad asked in a quivering voice.
    “No. Too dangerous,” the other man replied.
    “Don’t pull it out! Don’t!” Jon pleaded. “It’ll hurt too much!”
    “We can’t even take off the sneaker!” Jon’s dad cried.
    “The hospital is that way,” the architect said, pointing. “Only a few minutes
away.”
    “Owwww. It hurts! It hurrrrts!” Jon wailed.
    The two men lifted him off the ground. And half-walking, half-running, they
carried him down to a car parked across from the Dumpster.
    I watched from the weeds as they gently lowered Jon into the backseat. I saw
them struggle with a long white towel. Finally, they had it tightly wrapped
around the foot and sneaker.
    They closed Jon’s car door. Then they quickly slid into the front. A few
seconds later, the car roared off into the darkness.
    I stood in the middle of the yard, feeling the swaying weeds brush against my
jeans legs. I swallowed hard. My mouth suddenly felt as dry as cotton.
    “Poor Jon,” I murmured out loud.
    The camera was as evil as ever. Tonight it had found another victim.
    It’s all my fault, I thought sadly. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to
press the shutter. But I pressed it.
    The two men hadn’t even looked at me. They were so upset about Jon, I don’t
think they saw me.
    I glanced down and realized that I still gripped the camera in my hands. I
had a strong urge to heave it to the ground. To stomp on it again and again
until I smashed it forever.
    My eye caught something fluttering in the tall grass. I bent and picked it
up. The snapshot.
    I squinted once again at Jon, holding his foot, shrieking in pain.
    I tucked the snapshot into the pocket of my flannel shirt. I’ll bring it in
to Mr. Saur, I decided. I’ll bring in the camera and the photo of Jon. I’ll tell
him exactly what happened to Jon tonight.
    I won’t have to snap a picture in school.
    I have this picture as proof.
    So it won’t be dangerous. It won’t be dangerous at all.

 
 
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    The next morning, I gulped down my breakfast. Then I pulled on my backpack,
strapped the camera around my neck, and hurried out the door.
    I left the house fifteen minutes early. I didn’t want to run into Shari, or
Michael, or Bird.
    I stepped out into a warm day. The air smelled fresh and sweet. I saw a row
of tulips poking up through the ground along the side of the house. First
flowers of spring.
    I loped down the driveway and turned at the sidewalk. The camera felt heavy
against my chest. I reached up to adjust the strap—and heard a voice calling
me.
    “Greg! Hey, Greg—wait up!”
    Shari.
    I spun the camera behind me and tried to hide it under my arm.
    Too late. She had already spotted it.
    “I don’t