The talk among the kids who were hanging out in front of the arcade had just lapsed into a peaceful lull when all of a sudden they heard a distant crash.
"What was that?" Arnold asked, turning to check out the noise.
"Sounded like a bike goin' down hard to me," Stinky said.
"Yeah, and here comes Eugene," added Sid.
"I'm okay. . . ," Eugene said, his voice wavering thinly from down the block. Arnold and Gerald ran toward him. "What happened this time, man?" Gerald asked as they helped a limping Eugene wheel his bent and wobbling bike down the street.
"I crashed—again," Eugene said. "That's the fifth time I've crashed my bike on"—he glanced behind his shoulder and shuddered— "that corner. It's just too weird."
"What corner?" Gerald asked, looking down the block. "Is there a pothole or something?"
"Not a pothole, Gerald." Eugene looked at him seriously. "Something much more dangerous."
The boys leaned in closer. "Like what?" Stinky asked.
"Something . . . spooky. I have crashed my bike five times on that corner. I've wiped out on my skates twice, on my skateboard three times—heck, I've tripped and fallen flat on my