The high school building had a wide downstairs hallway; people milled around booths that had been installed along each side.
“Oh Jem. I forgot my money,” I sighed, when I saw them.
“Atticus didn’t,” Jem said. “Here’s thirty cents, you can do six things. See you later on.”
“Okay,” I said, quite content with thirty cents and Cecil.
I went with Cecil down to the front of the auditorium, through a door on one side, and backstage.
I got rid of my ham costume and departed in a hurry, for Mrs. Merriweather was standing at a lectern in front of the first row of seats
making last-minute, frenzied changes in the script. “How much money you got?” I asked Cecil. Cecil had thirty cents, too, which made us even.
We squandered our first nickels on the House of Horrors, which scared us not at all;
we entered the black seventh-grade room and were led around by the temporary ghoul in residence
and were made to touch several objects alleged to be component parts of a human being.
“Here’s his eyes,” we were told when we touched two peeled grapes on a saucer. “Here’s his heart,” which felt like raw liver.
“These are his innards,” and our hands were thrust into a plate of cold spaghetti. Cecil and I visited several booths.
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