Free Scary Out There by Jonathan Maberry

practically—”
    â€œInvincible. Yeah. I heard you.” Elaine picked at the tape on the sign and leaned her head close to the door. Somewhere in the distance, down a floor or two below—she thought she heard something. But it was faint. There was nothing certain, nothing she could point to and say, Listen. What’s that?
    So she didn’t say anything about it, and the pair of them walked back to U.S. 19 to walk or hitchhike home, like they did most days. It was better to do it while the morning was still new and before the sun got too high.
    One by one the other girls arrived and read the sign, and one by one they turned and went back home with a grumble.
    But not a single girl listened as hard as Elaine did, with her ear right next to the concession room door. None of them heard the splashing, the soft rubbing coming from down below in the auditorium. None of them pulled at the door or fought the lock.
    A day off was easier than chasing phantom sounds.
    But Frank was not home in bed with the flu. He was there at Weeki Wachee, downstairs in the auditorium where the eighteen cinema seats lined up like soldiers facing the aquarium window. He was standing on a stool, wearing a grim expression and a pair of shorts, but nothing else. He held a rag and a sponge—the big kind, the kind they used for washing cars.
    Beside him was a bucket, and inside the bucket was soapy water that had turned almost purple.
    He wrung out the sponge and the rag and pulled them back and forth over the wide underground window that was bigger than a movie screen: wiping, smoothing, cleaning. Erasing the message he’d found there, first thing that morning—a message which was so much worse than the one he’d left to protect his girls.
    If they saw this one, they’d only be afraid. There was no need to involve the police, no reason to let the authorities wander around asking questions and issuing warnings. Cops would be in the way. They’d be bad for business.
    And there was nothing to be afraid of, anyway.
    Or that’s what he told himself, same as he told the mermaids. But all the same he’d be on the lookout for a dark eyed man with hair blacker than the ace of spades. He’d keep his eyes peeled for that fellow who called himself Ed.
    With runny, tinted water staining his hands, he kept onworking—wearing away the series of letters that stood as tall as his arms were long. By suppertime not a trace would be left, and it was better that way.
    But for now, the window still read: IT BELONGS TO ME AND YOU MUST GIVE IT BACK.
    Frank didn’t know how he knew it was Ed, but he did. And somehow, he knew precisely what Ed wanted back. It was that stupid crown, the one Tammy wore in the show. There was something uncanny about it—something that made you want to touch it, hold it. Even wear it, not that Frank would ever do such a thing.
    That ridiculous bauble wasn’t normal—and neither was Ed.
    Somehow, they belonged together. He wondered how they’d ever gotten separated in the first place.
    Maybe he could retrieve it when the girls had all gone home. Maybe he could throw it away himself—or leave it out for Ed to find. Frank didn’t like a bully, and he didn’t like following orders from random vandals. But maybe if he did what the message said, Ed would go away.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    â€œYou shouldn’t be the last to leave.”
    â€œWhat?” Tammy asked. She wrapped her towel quickly around the tiara and pulled it out of the locker, hiding it against her stomach.
    Frank closed his arms over his chest. “We talked about this. Where was your sister today? And what have you got there?Is that that hair doodad? I thought we talked about this—I don’t want to see it anymore, not in the show.”
    â€œI know , and that’s why I’m taking it home. What are you doing in the ladies’ room?” She felt guilty and